Hook Up
by Ryeloza
Summary: Five first times that didn't happen, and one that did.  Tom/Lynette.  Pre-series.
1. Drunkish

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ is not mine in any way, shape or form. I swear I'm just doing this because random ideas pop into my head and won't get out.

**Story Summary: **Five first times that didn't happen, and one that did. Tom/Lynette. Pre-series.

**A/n: **One image in this fic came into my head on Sunday and spun out of control, so here we are. I'm not sure that all six parts of this fic will be this long, but we'll see. Rated M for a reason. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**One: Drunk(ish)**

"Hey. Sorry I'm late," said Tom breathlessly. His eyes swept over the table as he pulled out the chair next to Lynette and sat down, taking in each of the six empty seats before settling on her. She was running her finger around the rim of her wine glass with a rather bored expression on her face. "Er, am I late?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter. They're not coming."

"What?"

"They're not coming. Apparently they're going in another direction."

Tom frowned, beginning to comprehend what she was saying with an edge of incredulity. "We flew two thousand miles," he pointed out, as though this could possibly make a difference now.

"I know."

"And they couldn't even come tell us this in person?"

"They left a message with the maître d'." She flashed him a somewhat self-loathing smile that he had trouble returning, but she seemed to take this with a grain of salt. With a slight raise of her glass, she silently toasted their failure and downed the rest of the drink, and Tom raised his hand to attract the attention of their waiter. This abysmal ending seemed almost poetic considering what a horrid business trip this had been—a flight delayed four hours; a pathetically dingy hotel room; and their near-constant bickering over every aspect of this presentation. Now they weren't even going to make the pitch. To Tom, there seemed only one thing left to do.

"Yes?" The waiter Tom had flagged down was looking at him with every vestige of snootiness—like he knew they were staying at that crappy motel across town and didn't really belong here. Tom supposed he was the one giving off the vibe; Lynette looked like she'd walked right out of the pages of a magazine. Ignoring the attitude, Tom smiled pleasantly and said, "We'd like some alcohol."

"Tom." Lynette said his name like a warning, her eyes sliding over him like fire. He found it much harder to disregard her than the waiter, though he managed to keep the fake smile plastered on his face.

"What? We've had a shitty day, and the company is footing the bill."

She stared at him for a second—he couldn't quite tell if she was going to lambast him for the breech of ethics or walk out—and then to his surprise, she turned to the waiter and said, "Scotch. Just bring the bottle."

The waiter gave a beleaguered sigh (not that Tom could blame him; his night with them was bound to only get worse), and stalked off, leaving Tom to ogle Lynette. He was impressed, more so than he wanted to admit. He'd had her pegged as a stickler for the rules, though he wasn't entirely sure what had given him that impression in the first place. Maybe because she usually looked so straight-laced.

Usually. Tonight seemed to be the exception.

"Stop staring," she ordered firmly, but Tom hardly felt embarrassed to be caught, nor did she really seem to mind. At least, she only looked mildly annoyed, which was a step up from how she generally looked at him.

"Sorry. I was just thinking you look different tonight."

"I showered."

Tom grinned, more at the slight flush in her cheeks than her deadpan. She looked unnerved. He liked that. Mostly because she didn't seem like she was unnerved very often. "Seriously," he said, "the dress…the hair…It's…"

Lynette turned to face him, some serious, warning look on her face, and his stomach did a back flip, the word "sexy" dying on his lips. Suddenly, the flippancy seemed wrong—no matter if it was true.

"…pretty," he finished lamely. It didn't begin to cover how drop dead gorgeous she looked tonight with her hair pulled back in some elaborate knot and her red dress hugging her in all the right places and him being able to see skin that he'd only imagined before (_not_ that he was imagining her—ever). Anxiously, he rubbed his palms against his pants, glad that the tablecloth hid the movement.

"Thanks," said Lynette, and this time the slight laughter in her voice made him redden. She knew, he thought, that he'd chickened out at the last second.

With impeccable timing (boy was Tom going to give him a big tip), the disdainful waiter chose that moment to return with their alcohol, thumping the bottle down right between their glasses. Still smirking, Lynette immediately reached for the bottle and began to pour each of them a drink, and Tom was able to breathe a sigh of relief. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No."

"Of course," agreed the waiter, and Tom wondered how much of an effort it was for him not to roll his eyes. "Enjoy."

"Jackass," muttered Lynette, throwing back her first drink in one swift movement. Her face scrunched up as she swallowed, her nose contracting in a way Tom thought could be considered cute (if he was allowed to have such thoughts, which he wasn't). Annoyed with himself, he followed her lead, letting the burning of the alcohol momentarily distract him. The second he set his glass down, Lynette promptly refilled it, and though she did a second shot without blinking, he simply stared at the amber liquid.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Oh God," she said, stamping her glass down and propping her elbow up on the table. "Are you one of those maudlin drunks?"

"I'm not drunk." He furrowed his brow, suddenly wondering how many glasses of wine she'd had before he'd arrived. "Are you drunk?"

"Soon. What did you want to ask?"

Tom watched her take a third shot, and he had the sudden, wicked thought that there was a good chance she was about to become very chatty. Someone as outspoken as she was, was bound to be a talkative drunk. On a scale of one to ten, he wondered how evil it was to take advantage of that.

"Hell-ooo," she said, waving a hand in front of his face. Tom pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, and decided he didn't really care if he was going to go to hell or not.

"Did you let me oversleep for this dinner on purpose?"

Lynette snorted, pouring herself a shakier drink that sloshed onto the tablecloth; Tom could already imagine the waiter's face when he saw. "You overslept?"

"I told you that I was going to take a nap."

"Yeah…" Lynette shrugged, and then began to giggle uncontrollably. Somehow this didn't stop her from having her fourth drink. Tom shook his head, amused in spite of himself. "I'll take that as a yes," he said.

"Yes-ish. Ish. Ish. Ish."

"Lynette!"

"I was a little, tiny, kind of bit mad at you, so I just came over here without you. But I didn't know you'd be late. So ish. Ish." She continued to repeat this as she tried to pour herself a fifth drink, but when more of the drink ended up on the table than in her glass, she abandoned the effort and stole his untouched drink instead.

"Why were you mad at me?"

"Because you were on the phone with you girlfriend."

"So?"

"So!" She leaned toward him, clutching his forearm and then staring down at her hands like she was surprised she was touching him. "I—We—You were supposed to be working with me. Working. I don't know." With a slight shake of her head, she reached out for the bottle again, but Tom preempted her by grabbing her hand. To his surprise, she turned her hand in his, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

"You're very drunk."

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, the sound coming out like a low hum from the back of her throat. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Oh!" she suddenly gasped, pulling her hand out of his and bouncing a little in her seat. Tom rubbed his now lonely hand over his neck, trying to erase any trace of excitement he'd felt; Lynette remained blissfully ignorant. "You know what I want to do?"

"What?"

"Get a hotel room."

Tom swallowed hard, thinking that she couldn't mean what he thought she meant because they didn't even get along that well and they were on a business trip and he had a girlfriend and they both knew it. Throat dry, he managed to gasp, "What?"

"This place is like a five star hotel. I want to go get a room."

"Ooh," said Tom, relief and disappointment both twisting in his gut. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea—"

"That motel sucks. It sucks," she shouted. From nearby, their waiter glared at them, and laughing, Tom shushed her. "Seriously, Tom, let's do it."

"Do you know how much a room here probably costs?"

"Yeah, but we have the magic card." Unclasping her purse, she dug inside and pulled out the corporate credit card they'd been given to schmooze the clients. "Let's do it."

"Please stop saying that."

Lynette giggled, and he hoped she was too drunk to get the double entendre. "Come on."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Tom as Lynette stood, swayed a little and promptly sat back down. "We have to pay for your drinks first, drunky."

"You pay," she said, shoving the credit card in his hand and standing up more slowly. "I am going to go…"

"Go where? Lynette?"

She didn't respond, simply staggering toward in the general direction of the hotel lobby. Tom cursed under his breath, pulled out his own wallet and threw down several bills on the table. Then he stood and hurried after Lynette. Their waiter scowled, though Tom could only imagine that he was secretly pleased with their classless exit. They were definitely living up to his expectations.

He caught up with Lynette just as she made it to the reception area of the lobby; she leaned heavily against the counter, practically invading the personal space of the employee manning the desk. Sheepishly, Tom stepped up next to her and gently wrapped an arm around her to pull her back. The skin of her shoulder was warm and soft beneath his hand, and he found it impossible to find the willpower to release her. The man behind the counter glanced at them, amused. "Can I help you?"

"We need a room," said Lynette.

"No—"

"Not him. Me. Me is we."

"Sir?"

"Um, excuse me," snapped Lynette, and Tom tightened his hold on her to keep her from leaping over the counter and decking the other man. He didn't doubt she could do it, even when this intoxicated. "I am right here, and I am the one ordering this room. Tom, give him the card."

"Lynette—"

Her hand drifted down to his pocket, slipping inside and groping around, and Tom jumped nearly a mile in the air. Without thinking, he handed over the card. "One room," he said.

"Smoking or non-smoking?"

"Look," said Tom, desperately trying to ignore the fact that Lynette's hand was still in his pocket, touching him somewhere she absolutely shouldn't have been, "I need to get her to bed, so just get us the cheapest room you have."

"Mmm," giggled Lynette mischievously. "Did you hear that? He's taking me to bed."

"No. I'm not. We're not."

Lynette grinned and finally pulled away from him, stepping away from the desk and throwing her head back to look at the ceiling. She was humming something under her breath, her hands working to unpin her hair. Tom was painfully aware that he was staring at her again, and as her hair tumbled down over her shoulders, he had to grip the counter to keep from reaching out to run his hands through her locks. He never should have ordered that alcohol, he realized now, though he'd had no way of predicting that she'd be so…

Well, to be honest, so damn fucking sexy.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed how beautiful she was; that had been obvious since the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. But at work she was all business—suits and serious faces and dead focused; it was a lot easier to ignore her looks in that kind of atmosphere. When she was drunk and uninhibited and practically groping him, it was a lot harder to overlook the obvious.

"Your key, sir?"

Tom turned and flushed at the bemused look on the concierge's face; he had a feeling his thoughts were incredibly transparent. "Thanks," he muttered, taking the key and turning away. "Lynette, let's go."

Refusing to touch her, Tom kept a safe distance between them as they headed for the elevator. This was it, almost over. He was going to take her upstairs, make sure she got into her room, and then head back to the motel. That was it.

"I'm going to have to sleep naked."

Tom shut his eyes and swore under his breath.

"Seriously," she said. He opened his eyes and to his dismay, found that she was practically on top of him. "I don't have my pajamas here."

"That's okay."

"Do you think they have one of those hotel bathrobes?"

"I'm sure they do."

"Hmm." She stepped away from him, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and shutting her eyes. Against his better judgment, Tom gazed at her, taking in her appearance from head to toe: the slight curl of her hair, her flushed cheeks, the long, smooth stretch of her neck, the plunging neckline of her dress that drew his eyes right to her breasts. His eyes got caught there as though magnetized. He wondered if she was wearing a bra.

"You're staring again."

Tom drew his eyes upward and met hers. She didn't seem at all upset by his gawking; if anything, she seemed pleased. "Yeah," he admitted hoarsely. "Your dress is…really nice."

"You weren't staring at my dress."

Before Tom could respond, the elevator doors opened to a sprawling, decadent, deserted hallway. Smirking, Lynette walked out without looking at him, and he recklessly appreciated the new view for a moment before following her. The room wasn't far from the elevator, and when they got there, Tom fumbled with the key card. Lynette was standing way too close to him; close enough that he could feel her chest against his back. It took him three tries to get the door unlocked.

"Okay," he said, opening the door and standing aside so she could go in. This was it. He was going to say goodnight and leave. Lynette took a step forward, but then turned so they were face-to-face in the doorway. Slowly, she reached out and ran her hand down over his tie.

"You want to come in?"

"I…shouldn't."

"You shouldn't go back to that crappy motel. There's probably mold in the walls."

"You think?"

"Yes." She stretched out her arm and flicked on the light, illuminating the spacious room. Simultaneously, they glanced inside. "That is a really big bed."

"You don't have pajamas."

"You said that wasn't a problem."

Lynette went into the room then, leaving him to stare after her as she walked over to the dresser, turned, and jumped up onto it. Fairly certain that his brain had taken a leave of absence, Tom stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"How drunk are you?"

"Drunk enough."

Tom sighed, coming toward her and standing just out of her arm's reach. "What does that mean?"

Smiling naughtily, Lynette reached up to undo the knot holding up her dress, letting the top fall open and exposing her breasts. She was wearing a bra—strapless, red, and lacy—and Tom's mouth went dry. "You wanted a better view," she purred quietly. "Right?"

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why not?"

"Because you're drunk. And I'm not sure you know what you're doing."

Lynette crooked a finger at him, beckoning him forward, but Tom bit his lip hesitantly. She smiled. "Don't worry. You don't have to touch me."

Sighing, Tom stepped forward until he was standing between her open legs, resisting every urge in his body to touch her. "I'm going to tell you a secret," she said. She glanced around the room surreptitiously, as though someone else might be listening, and then whispered, "I am a control freak."

"Yeah. I kind of picked up on that."

"Really?" She looked at him with genuine surprise, though he couldn't imagine that anyone didn't realize that about her within minutes of meeting her. "Well then you know," she said. "So you don't have to worry."

"Why?"

"Because I know how to take care of myself. And I don't do anything I don't want to do."

"Lynette—"

"And I have wanted to do this for quite awhile."

Tom's eyes widened, astonished by this revelation. There had always been a tension between them, but he'd never imagined that all the bickering and snarky comments had had any deeper meaning—at least for her. The fact that he'd wanted to touch like this since the first time he saw her was unsurprising to either of them.

Oblivious to—or maybe in spite of—his internal debate, Lynette took his hand, holding it up against hers so they were palm to palm, finger to finger. "Your hands are so big," she said, a deep, lustful quality to her voice. "I want you to touch me with them."

Slowly, she scooted forward, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. He was breathing rapidly now, aching to touch her. "You're sure?" he whispered.

"God, you think too much."

Lynette tugged him toward her, her lips meeting his and sending a shiver straight down his back. Finally, he let his hands roam, one running up and down the soft skin of her bare back, the other settling on her breast. She gave the tiniest moan, the backs of her heels digging into his thighs so he was forced to come even closer to her. He was so hard already that he straining against his pants, and judging by the way she squirmed against him, she was entirely aware.

"Did you plan this?" he mumbled against her mouth. His hand drifted up to tangle in her hair, tugging her head back slightly so he could look her in the eyes.

"No. But I might have been hoping. I didn't put this bra on for me."

Tom groaned and kissed her again, their teeth clicking together before she opened her mouth and he pushed his tongue inside. He could taste the alcohol on her breath; mixed with the intoxicating smell of her perfume, he practically felt drunk himself. Eagerly, he found the clasp of her bra, struggling to unhook it. At the same time, she was having much greater success with undoing the buttons of his shirt, and he nearly lost it when her hands met his skin. Nimble fingers ran over his pecs, down to his abs, and then around to his back to pull him toward her. Finally, he unhooked her bra, pulling it off and flinging it across the room.

Aching to put his mouth on her breasts, Tom began to kiss a path down her neck, only to be sidetracked when his lips touched a particularly sensitive spot. She dug her nails into his back and moaned, and Tom grinned against her neck. Slowly, he kissed her again there, soft and open-mouthed, repeating the motion again and again. Lynette stretched her neck, giving him more access, and her breathing grew heavier. "You like that," he mumbled into her skin.

"Yes. Yes, right there."

Tom pressed one last kiss against her and then moved down to her breasts, cupping them with his hands and then tugging one nipple into his mouth. There was a sheen of sweat on her skin now, and he reveled in the contrast of the salty taste of her with how supple she felt. After a moment, she shifted, using her hands to support herself as she arched her back—the movement pressed their lower bodies even more closely together, and Tom put his hands on her ass, squeezing and kneading her through the soft fabric of her dress.

"Are you wet?" he asked, flicking his tongue over her nipple and then biting her. "I want to feel you soaking wet and ready for me."

"I've been ready for an hour."

Tom chuckled, and the sound momentarily broke the tension between them, Lynette also letting out a shaky laugh. Gently, he kissed her right between her breasts, moving his hands to her thighs and skirting under her dress. She unhooked her legs from his waist; losing that tautness was unbearable, but he quickly pulled off her panties, throwing them aside and then dropping to his knees in front of her. He nudged her legs apart, and, getting the hint, she spread them even further, and then disappeared under the skirt of her dress.

He touched her slowly—she was soaking, her lips slippery as he parted them with his fingers. He nudged her clit with his nose, overwhelmed by the sweet, sexy scent of her, and then licked her firmly. Her thighs tightened around him and he pressed them apart again impatiently, continuing to run his tongue over her center. She was making a strangled, mewling sound, gasping and panting, and Tom increased his speed, ready to push her over the edge. Eagerly, he slipped one finger inside of her, thrusting it up, crooking it. She was so hot and tight and amazing, and he suddenly, desperately wanted his cock inside of her.

"Oh God. Right there. Please, please don't stop!"

He lightly bit down on her clit, and she shrieked, tightening against his finger, thighs closing in on him, her whole body trembling against him. He kissed and licked her as she came, prolonging her orgasm until she stilled, and then he stood up again to face her. She immediately pulled him toward her, kissing him hard as her hands struggled to open his pants. Barely able to hold on another moment, he brushed her hands away and did it himself, pushing his pants and boxers to the floor and stepping out of them.

She blew out a low breath at the sight of him, and then reached for her purse as Tom started to kiss her neck and chest again. His hands pushed her skirt up, pooling it around her waist, and he tugged her forward to the edge of the dresser. "Condom," she breathed, putting a hand on his chest and gently pushing him back. For a wild moment, Tom panicked—he didn't have a condom and the thought of not fucking her now was unbearable—but then he realized that she'd pulled one out of her purse.

"Amazing," he said, kissing her shoulder. "So fucking amazing."

Lynette didn't respond; she had opened the condom and now slowly pressed it to the tip of his dick, gently unrolling it. He shut his eyes, afraid he might lose it just from the feel of her hands on him, and the second she was done, he pushed her hands out of the way and took a firm hold of her hips. She spread her legs again and he stepped forward, guiding his cock to her opening and pressing himself into her. They both gasped, Lynette laid her head on his shoulder for a second, and that was all the time Tom could give her. He began to move, quickly building speed as she matched his rhythm.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, sitting up and tilting her head back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Tom lifted a hand to her hair, pushing her forward and kissing her hard so her words were lost in his mouth. His thrusting was becoming more and more erratic—he was close, so close, and she was just so fucking hot and wet and tight.

She wrenched her mouth from his, gasping in this high, sharp breath like she could hardly breathe, and one of her hands went to her clit, rubbing herself in circles. "Come on," he groaned. "Oh God, come on, come on."

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Lynette bucked against him, back arching so far that her head almost touched the wall, and suddenly she was practically strangling his dick, and he was gone. Eyes shut, giving one last erratic thrust as every part of his body shook with ecstasy, and then he went limp against her.

Lynette brushed her hair off of her forehead, leaning back against the wall and breathing heavily. Her eyes were heady with satisfaction; a little grin played at the corners of her mouth, so irresistible that Tom couldn't help but kiss her.

"The room is spinning."

"You're still drunk. I think I'm drunk."

She giggled and kissed him again, rubbing one of her hands over the back of his neck. "I'm glad you came in."

Tom smiled and nodded, fairly certain that glad didn't even begin to cover how happy he was. In fact, he was pretty sure this might have been the best bad decision he'd ever made in his life.

He just really hoped she still felt the same way in the morning.


	2. Company Picnic

**Disclaimer: **This really isn't mine.

**A/n: **Thank you all for reviewing! Please continue to let me know what you think!

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Two: Company Picnic**

"So I told Henry that he was just going to have to suck it up and sign the account over to me. I mean, he royally fucked up, you know? He didn't really have a choice."

"Uh-huh," agreed Lynette. Carter had been talking her ear off from the second she'd gotten into his car this afternoon, and she'd managed to listen intently for about a half an hour before letting her mind wander. She didn't really feel bad; most of what he said didn't require a verbal response anyway.

They were at their company picnic, an event that ate up an entire Saturday while requiring inane forms of recreation and socialization. The word "optional" had been stressed quite a bit, but there was something rather final about the way her boss had sat down with the upper level employees and basically ordered them to come. "We're boosting morale here, people," he'd said, pounding his fist against the table. Lynette had glanced surreptitiously at Tom, hiding a smile as he'd turned to Mike Sutton and subtly mimed putting a gun to his head. In the few weeks they'd worked together, it had become second nature for Lynette to look to him for a joke or a response that echoed her private thoughts, even if he was unaware that she was eyeing him. But it was also a distraction. A distraction that got her into messes like this one.

"So I sent the fax over to Neemerman this morning, and I'm just waiting for confirmation. Like, how long does it take to send a fucking confirmation, you know? And then we have to come here. Not that I'm not, you know, having a good time or anything. This is great."

Lynette stretched her neck from side to side, working at the kinks that she'd been feeling for a week now. A moment later, Carter's hand landed heavily on her neck, squeezing her muscles uncomfortably for a minute before he relaxed and settled a hand across her shoulders. She wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten the impression that this was a date—it wasn't—but she couldn't be entirely sure that she'd heard him correctly when he'd been talking to her after the meeting either. A group of them had lingered in the conference room, and Lynette had been more focused on Tom's all-too-accurate impersonation of their boss than Carter's invitation to come to this thing together. As far as she could remember, though, the invitation had been, "You wanna, you know, drive to this thing together?"

Certainly not the equivalent to a date. Unless, like now, there was more to what he was saying than what she chose to hear.

"Lynette?"

"Huh?" She turned to look up at him; it gave her the perfect excuse to slip out of his grasp at the same time. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said it's almost four. Softball game, right?"

Lynette glanced at her watch, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're right!" she said, more enthusiastically than she should have. And to think, she hadn't particularly been looking forward to this game. "I have to go."

"No, I signed up too, remember? I told you that. I played pitcher for my high school and college teams. Fastest arm on the west coast."

"Oh. Right."

Carter took her hand and led her to the baseball field; Lynette wasn't sure she'd ever met a more clueless person. Already she could foresee this ending badly; if he was dumb enough to think they were having a successful date than he really wasn't going to see it coming when she turned him down.

"You guys are late," barked Shawn Reisburg as they approached. He glanced at their joined hands disdainfully, and Lynette promptly drew hers back on the pretense of fixing her hair (as it was in two braids, it was a weak façade at best). With a smirk that suggested that he was more informed than Carter, Shawn tossed her a blue baseball cap and said, "Lynette, you're a captain."

"First pick?"

"Goes to me for showing up on time." Shawn jammed a red cap on his head and crossed his arms, surveying the crowd of people around them with vague disinterest. Finally he jerked his head in Gary Paulson's direction, and spit on the ground.

Lynette spread her legs slightly, hands behind her back, but she had about two seconds to scan the crowd when Carter loudly cleared his throat. Her eyes traveled to his inadvertently, and as he mouthed, "Fastest arm in the west," she officially stopped thinking. "Tom," she said, spitting out the first name that popped into her head. Carter's brow furrowed in annoyance, but Lynette ignored it, relieved when Shawn picked Carter next.

"Fighting with your boyfriend?" Tom muttered from behind her. Judging by his tone, he was clearly teasing her, but that didn't stop her from quickly stamping on his foot. It was bad enough that Carter seemed to think they were on a date; she didn't need the rest of the office thinking that as well. "Natalie," she chose as Tom gave an exaggerated groan. She didn't regret it even a little.

Lynette put a little more effort into the rest of her picks—she'd never been a halfhearted competitor—and by the time they were assembled she figured she had a fairly good chance of winning. Shawn had gone for brute size as opposed to skill, and Lynette didn't doubt that her team could kick his ass. Considering that Shawn and Gary had weaseled an account away from her a week ago, she was really looking forward to it.

Their team was up to bat first, and after coming up with an order that put her roughly in the middle, Lynette settled in on the bench, pulling off her cap and brushing the loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes. She had about two minutes to enjoy her first moment of quiet all day, and then Tom plopped down next to her with a bat in his hands. "You know," he said in that same strange teasing tone he'd used earlier, "I think as team captain you're required to keep that cap on at all times."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a funny guy?"

"All the time actually."

"Huh. Well, they lied."

Tom grinned and tapped her foot with the bat. "Look at you with the zings. I'm liking the snark, Lindquist."

Lynette disregarded this, cheering loudly as Mike Sutton got a hit and rounded first to second, but Tom apparently wasn't any more discouraged by her lack of response than Carter had been. He did, however, seem to want her to reply, which made it a lot harder to pretend he wasn't there. "So I know you're not serious all the time."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well obviously you've got the sarcasm thing down." He paused as they watched Robert Newman hit a ball that sent Mike all the way home, and as Natalie stepped up to bat, he stood. "Plus," he added, "you totally laugh at my jokes."

"I do not!"

"Oh yeah, you do." Tom swung the bat a couple of times; Lynette tried and failed to keep her eyes off of his arms as he did this. She hadn't seen him in a t-shirt before, and the view was even better than she'd expected. "And you try to keep it a secret too, but you always get this funny little twitch in the corner of your mouth. So I've gotta wonder, why don't you want me to know you think I'm funny?"

"I'm afraid you're going to fall over if your head gets any bigger," she said, quickly falling back on tried and true habits to cover her embarrassment. At the same time, she tugged her hat back on to hide the slight flush of her cheeks. It was disconcerting to realize how transparent she was, especially considering how often Tom made her laugh. As much as she'd been convinced that it would be horrible for him to know she thought he was funny, she now realized that it was so much worse for him to know she was hiding it. The whole thing was absurd; laughing or not laughing—it shouldn't have mattered at all.

Realizing that silence had stretched between them much longer than it should have, Lynette reluctantly raised her eyes to look at him. He was smiling at her in an oddly bothersome way, and she thought she probably hadn't fooled him at all. "You know what?" he said, swinging the bat again. "I'm going to make you laugh today. Right out loud."

Before Lynette could respond, someone called out, "Scavo, you're up!" and Tom walked away with one last cocky grin. She should be infuriated, she thought, even more annoyed than she'd been with Carter. But the truth was that her heart had sped up a little and her palms were sweaty, and she wondered just what he was going to do.

The first two innings soared by with them leading three to two, and it wasn't until the third inning that she found herself side-by-side with Tom again. He'd just scored their fourth run, and he sat down next to her, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat off his forehead. Wordlessly, she handed him a bottle of water, and he chugged about half of it before addressing her.

"Despite my fear of getting my foot smashed again, I'd like to point out that your boyfriend just threw his mitt halfway to home plate."

"So much for having the fastest arm in the west."

"Does he listen when he talks?"

"No one listens when he talks."

She stood as Tom laughed, picking up her bat and walking away with a slightly triumphant smile on her face. The sound was like an adrenaline rush, and when she went to bat a minute later, the crack of the ball connecting with her bat was more than worth whatever humiliation she was bound to suffer at the end of their bantering. Somehow flirting didn't seem so innocent when it caused her heart to pound like a jackhammer.

They were only playing to five innings, and by bottom of the fourth they had an eight point lead that made Lynette feel fairly confident that they were going to be victorious. As they switched from the outfield to the bench for the fifth inning, Lynette stood by the fence grinning as Shawn and Carter engaged in a screaming match. From what she could tell, Shawn was holding Carter responsible as the pitcher and trying to bench him, but Carter wasn't willing to give up the spot. It was a little twisted how delighted she was at watching their faces get progressively redder.

"I think this is the end of the game," said Natalie, swinging her bat over her shoulder and leaning slightly against the fence. "Which one of them is going to throw the first punch?"

"They're not—" Lynette stopped short as Shawn decked Carter. All of a sudden, the field erupted in mass chaos, people running from all directions to either spur on or try to pull apart Shawn and Carter.

"Yeah, that's the game," repeated Natalie. "Don't feel bad. Happens every year. At least we won."

Lynette shook her head, torn between awe and disgust at the sight of the two men trying to rip each other's heads off over a softball game. Still, there was a silver lining: the chance to slip away from Carter unnoticed. "I'm gonna go," she told Natalie absentmindedly. "Do me a favor and tell Carter I found a ride home."

"Do you have a ride home?"

"Doesn't matter. Just tell him, okay?"

Natalie shrugged and then shrieked as her husband got decked by one of Shawn's stray punches, hurrying onto the field and giving Lynette the perfect opportunity to leave. Technically, it was probably still too early to leave the picnic altogether, but she needed at least a few minutes to clear her head. Without much thought about where to go, she simply headed in the opposite direction of the crowd, past the playground and toward the rec building. There was a pool behind the building, and as it didn't open until Monday, it was bound to be deserted.

The only person near the building was a teenager smoking a cigarette who barely glanced at her as she passed. If there was anyone who could be counted on not to give a damn, it was a surly teen. Silently, she walked around the building and approached the fence that surrounded the pool. They'd already filled it in preparation for the Memorial Day crowds, the water calm and undisturbed. She'd never thought of a public pool as beautiful before, but empty like this, untainted, there was something oddly attractive about the water.

"You going in?"

"Jeez!" Lynette spun around, hand on her heart, and glared at the offending party. It was Tom. Somehow she wasn't the least bit surprised. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Tom shrugged, actually looking a little sheepish. "You just kind of ran out of the game. I wanted to make sure that you were okay…and clearly you are."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Carter—"

"Carter is not my boyfriend," she groaned, rolling her eyes. In the jesting earlier, she'd thought that Tom, at least, understood that. "We car pooled here and apparently he took that to mean we're on a date. We're not."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Annoyed, she turned back to the fence, sizing it up in less than ten seconds and rashly sticking the toe of her shoe through a hole to begin to climb it. Often her impulsive decisions led no where good, but in the heat of the moment they always seemed like the best instincts. And nothing seemed like a better idea at this minute than hopping this fence and getting into that pool.

"What are you doing? Lynette?"

Reaching the top of the fence, she swung one leg and then the other over, climbing about halfway down before jumping the rest of the way. She landed gracefully, but her heels throbbed from hitting the concrete, and she didn't hesitate to toe off her sneakers. Behind her, she could hear Tom scrambling up the fence as well, but she didn't bother to look or comment. He was going to do what he felt like; it didn't matter to her one way or the other. Slowly, she rolled her jeans up to her knees, walked the short distance to the edge of the pool, sat down and dipped her feet into the icy water.

"We could probably get arrested for this, you know."

Lynette pulled off her baseball cap and tossed it aside, glancing up at Tom as he came over and sat down next to her. He made an exaggerated show of shivering as he put his feet in the pool, and she halfheartedly rolled her eyes. "It's just nice seeing it like this," she said quietly. "We're the first people who have been in this water."

"That's probably a testament for private pools."

She smiled faintly, stretching her neck again, and still not managing to work out the knots. For the second time that day, the movement attracted attention—without warning, Tom shifted so he was almost behind her, his hands settled on her shoulders, and his thumbs gently began to knead the sore muscles in her neck. She stiffened for only a second at his unexpected touch, and then gave in to the sensation, trying not to read too much into her easy acquiescence.

"You're all knots," said Tom quietly—the first serious words she'd heard from him all day. "Don't you ever relax?"

"Who has the time?"

Tom tisked her gently, but it sounded less like disapproval and more like concern. "This is why you should let yourself laugh. You'd be much less tense."

"I laugh."

"You smile. Occasionally, you chuckle. But in the two months I've known you, I've never heard you really laugh."

"That's ridiculous."

"Hmm," Tom hummed, working his way from her neck to her shoulders. Incredibly, she could actually feel the tension leaving her upper back, her body relaxing for what felt like the first time since she'd started this job. And at the same time, her pulse was racing—a contradiction of feeling in the best possible way. He was making her forget that there was a whole world out there beyond this idyllic moment, and she was absolutely willing to go along with it.

"Do you ever just want to disappear for awhile?"

Tom didn't respond. Slowly, his fingers stilled, hands coming to rest on her upper arms, and then without warning, she felt his lips brush the back of her neck. She sucked in a breath, her eyes shutting at the sensation of his nose trailing feather-light against her neck, and wondered in the scale of her whole life, how stupid she would be not to put a stop to this now.

She didn't want to put a stop to it.

He continued to kiss her, just these tiny, soft movements of his lips against her skin, and then as if sensing she wasn't going to stop him, one of his arms wrapped around her chest, the other drifting down to her hip and then up under her shirt. His hand settled against her skin, scalding her, but he didn't push it further. "You have no idea," he whispered, kissing her right beneath her ear, "how long I've been waiting to do this."

"Tom…" A plea, an admonition, a hope, a fear… She had no idea what she was doing, long past the point of rational thought and ready to just feel. She was so very tired of overanalyzing every little thing she did.

She turned her head, eyes skating up to meet his, and he lifted his hands to cup her cheeks. There was a look on his face that she never could have imagined in a lifetime of dreaming, soft and tender, and yet so very, very desirous. It almost hurt to see him stare at her that way, but there was still an interminable pause before she finally leaned forward and met his lips. Slowly, his lips parted, capturing her bottom lip in one heated movement; her hand curled around his shirt. It was so overwhelming that she had to remind herself to breathe.

"Wow," she said, resting her forehead against his. A soft giggle escaped from her, turning into a sigh midway, and she repeated herself. "Wow."

Tom kissed her nose, chuckling and grinning like an idiot, and she bit her lip, fighting a similar expression. "You're doing it again," he said. His eyes were laughing at her.

"What?"

"Not letting yourself laugh."

"No—"

She didn't have the chance to protest. Tom's arms dropped to her sides, fingers dancing over her ribs and stomach, up under her arms, and she shrieked with laughter. "Ooh," he said, a wicked thrill in his eyes. "You're ticklish!"

"Tom! Stop it!" She squirmed against him, feet thrashing, but he continued to torture her, apparently delighting in the sound of her giggling. It didn't take much, just the barest touch, but now that he knew how sensitive she was, he seemed to be taking full advantage of her weakness. He leaned forward, his right index finger digging into an especially vulnerable spot, and she bucked backward, losing her balance and toppling into the pool. Wrapped around her, Tom could only tumble in with her, letting her go as they hit the water.

She broke the surface, sputtering and pushing her bangs out of her eyes, her mouth open in a round 'o' of surprise. Across from her, Tom was grinning, easily able to stand where she could barely touch the ground on tiptoe. Despite herself, Lynette continued to giggle, apparently unable to stop now that she'd started.

"So this is funny, huh?" he joked.

"Pretty funny, yeah."

"Uh-huh. We'll see about that!" He lunged for her, and she yelped, trying and failing to swim out of his arm's length in time. He caught her around the middle, pulling her back and turning her around to face him, and as suddenly as it had started, her laughter ceased. His chest was heaving against her, his heart pounding underneath her hand, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach increase tenfold. Unhesitatingly, he kissed her again, harder and more passionately, until Lynette felt for sure that she'd pass out from a lack of oxygen.

"I want you," said Tom, his breathing ragged as he continued to press kisses all over her face and neck. It felt like he was confessing a long held secret. "God, I do."

Lynette put her hands to his cheeks, stilling his movement long enough that she could look into his eyes. There was some overpowering lust there now—one that sent a dangerous thrill down her spine and made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Right now maybe she was.

He kissed her again, quickly, and then pushed her hair back from her face. "We don't have to—"

"Yes we do."

It was all the affirmation Tom needed. In a frenzy, they began to peel off their clothes, shirts sticking to their skin and pants a struggle to pull down. Still, it wasn't long before their clothes were floating on the water around them, all but forgotten as she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him again. His chest was slick and smooth against hers as he pulled her tightly to him—he was so thick and solid, all strong muscle—and in the water, every sensation felt magnified in some strange, inexplicable way.

"God, you feel so good," Tom mumbled into her mouth. His hands drifted from her lower back to her ass and she moaned. She could feel him, hard as a rock against her thigh, but they were so tightly fused together that she couldn't reach down to grab him. Impatiently, she pulled back, but Tom followed her; his lips were firm and persistent against hers, tongue warring with hers like they couldn't possibly get close enough. She wasn't sure that they could.

"Tom," she gasped as he nipped her bottom lip. "Tom…Need you…Inside…"

He continued to kiss her, and for a moment Lynette wondered if he had even heard her, but then his hands settled on her hips, shifting her, and he pushed forward, and suddenly everything clicked into place. She gasped as he entered her; pressing so deeply into her that she could scarcely breathe. He felt incredible—so indescribably incredible—and she was so full that she was going to burst.

"Fuck, you're tight," he muttered, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Oh, fuck, yes."

Tom grinned, laughing a little. "You are amazing. You know that right? So fucking amazing."

Lynette shook her head, kissing him again as his hands tightened on her hips and he slowly began to move against her. In the water, it was harder to find a rhythm, and in an effort to increase the friction, she squeezed her inner muscles tight around him. Tom groaned into her mouth, fingers clenching around her skin so hard that it would probably bruise as she dug her nails into his shoulders. The water lapped around them, the frigidity contrasting with the heat between them. The multitude of sensations seemed to intensify everything, and Lynette could feel her orgasm building like a storm.

"Fuck," she mumbled into his mouth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Tom seemed to take her mantra as encouragement, moving even faster against her, and Lynette threw her head back, gasping for breath. She was going to die—it was all just too much.

Realizing how close she was, Tom moved his hand from her hip back to her ass, running his finger over the sensitive skin there as he continued to pound into her. She arched her back, squeezing her eyes shut as she finally found release, wave after wave of pleasure flowing over her in unbearable ecstasy. Quickly, Tom pulled out of her, his dick pressing into her stomach as he seized up with her, hands gripping her like a vise. And then, just a bundle of contradictions, his touch suddenly became beyond gentle again, pulling her close and hugging her.

"Amazing," he whispered into her neck, following the words with a kiss. "And beautiful, and fantastic, and you are just…"

Lynette nuzzled her nose against his shoulder, and then turned her head to rest there, unable to keep the smile off of her face. She didn't think she could talk even if she wanted to, but something about this moment leant itself to silence. It was still their world, even as reality crept around the outside like the falling night, and for now there was no one else. This was it. This was…

"…Everything."


	3. Naughty and Nice

**Disclaimer: **This isn't mine. I swear to that fact.

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for the fantastic feedback! I'm glad you're all enjoying these, and I hope this chapter lives up to the others. Please let me know what you think!

-Ryeloza

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Three: Naughty and Nice**

Tom was openly watching Lynette, and it was driving her crazy.

It wasn't hard to tell that he was bothering her. Her brow was furrowed so she had that little crease in her forehead; her hands were tight around the steering wheel; she was sitting just a little straighter. They were all classic signs that he was annoying her, and yet he neither wanted nor planned to stop. She'd been successfully making him nuts for weeks now, culminating in this frustrating, horrible weekend. He had no qualms about returning the favor.

They'd been planning a weekend away for nearly two weeks now, eager to escape reality for a little while and indulge each other. Tom, certainly, had practically salivated over the idea of finally doing it after weeks of stolen kisses and surreptitious dates that ended at the doorstep. The fact that he'd gotten so close to the goal only to be stopped short had him more irritated than ever, and he had no problem sucking Lynette down with him. If he had to be miserable, then she did as well.

He was going to push her right over the edge, even if it took every trick in his arsenal.

Boldly, Tom leaned over, hooked a finger around the strap of her tank top and tugged it down her shoulder. Lynette glanced at his hand with mild annoyance, but didn't bother to bat him away. "What are you doing? Tom?"

"Creating a mental image."

"What?"

He pinched her bra strap, pulling it back and releasing it against her shoulder with an audible _snap_. This time, she did slap his hand away, and then yanked her tank top back in place. "Bright green," he said, sinking back in his seat and smirking at her. "Interesting choice. Do your panties match?"

"My panties are none of your business."

"Okay." He put his hands behind his head and shut his eyes, pretending that he was more comfortable than he actually was. "I'll pretend you're wearing a lacy black thong, then."

"I am not—Hey!" Out of no where, her hand connected with his chest and he jerked forward. "Stop picturing me in my underwear!"

"You want me to take it off?"

"I want you to shut up and look out the window."

Tom shook his head, honestly enjoying seeing her this flustered—pissed—whatever. It felt great to flip the tables on her after she'd ruined their weekend away. If he had to go back home frustrated and angry, then she should as well. With an unhidden delight, he closed his eyes again and began to narrate, his voice going down a notch or two without even trying. "You're giving me the dirtiest look, slowly pulling off that thong, letting it drop to your feet. Even sitting across the room, I can already tell that you're soaking wet, just waiting for me to fill you up—"

"Shut the hell up!" she growled, smacking him once after each word. He just laughed and grasped her hand in midair, but she wrenched it away before he got a good grip. "You're not allowed to picture me naked!"

"I've got news for you, beautiful: you can't control my thoughts. In my mind, I can picture you doing whatever the hell I want." He cocked his head to the side. "And there goes your bra. God, you could cut glass with those nipples."

"Fuck you."

"I wish."

Lynette scowled, her grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He had a feeling that if she could, she would gladly dictate all of his thoughts from now until they got home. If she knew how often he fantasized about her alone in his bedroom, dick hard in his hand, she might extend that ability even further. Fortunately for him, this was one of the few times that she was truly powerless. "Yeah," he said, not quite sure why he didn't quit while he was ahead. "You're just begging me to fuck that tight little—"

Everything seemed to happen at once. The car made a horrible sound as the tire rolled over something it shouldn't have; Lynette gave a sharp gasp; they spun in nearly a full circle and finally came to a halt, half on the shoulder of the road. Tom's heart was pounding, but his eyes were on Lynette, anxiously raking over every inch of her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She let out a shuddery breath and glanced at him. For about half a second, the anger was absent, and then it returned tenfold, almost as if the momentary respite made her even madder. Hands shaking, she undid her seatbelt and got out of the car, slamming the door so hard that the car shook. Tom sighed, but he had no choice but to get out of the car and help her assess the damage.

"Looks like we blew out a tire," he said, staring down at the shredded, messy remains of his front tire. Lynette stood in the road with her hands on her hips, purposely averting her eyes. "We're not going to be able to drive on this."

"No shit."

"You have something to add?"

"Yeah. Let's change the tire so we can get the hell out of here."

It was Tom's turn to look away. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, desperate to avoid saying what he had to tell her. "Well that's easier said than done."

"I know how to change a tire."

"So do I," he snapped defensively. "The problem is that I don't have a spare."

Silence stretched between them so long and heavy that Tom finally had to meet her eyes again just to gauge her reaction. Immediately, it felt like a mistake; the look of incredulity in her eyes was almost painful to face—like he was quite possibly the stupidest man in the world. To make matters worse, she didn't say a word, simply shaking her head and walking over to jump up on the hood of the car.

"So if you had to choose the worst moment of this weekend—"

"Now," said Lynette immediately. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, pushing the loose tendrils away from her face. "Without a doubt."

Sighing, Tom sat down next to her, careful to leave some proximity of personal space between them. He really didn't want to fight any more, particularly now that they were facing a three mile walk back to the gas station. "Hey," he said, failing to make his tone light, but at least managing neutral, "remember when I said we should go away for the weekend?"

"Yeah. You promised me a great time. Instead, your girlfriend showed up and I got to spend the weekend by myself."

"_Ex_-girlfriend. Ex. How many times do I have to say that?"

Lynette gave him the same disbelieving look she'd been wearing since the moment Annabel had showed up at the hotel, and Tom felt his anger flare again. It was disconcerting to realize how close to the surface it still was, even in the face of this disaster. "Do you not believe me when I say I broke up with her?"

"Yes, I believe you."

"Then what is the big deal?"

"The big deal is that this was our first romantic weekend away together and she ruined it. You let her ruin it."

"I didn't ask her to come. She just showed up."

"How did she even know where we were?"

Tom groaned loudly and buried his head in his hands. He felt like they'd had the same fight fifty times in the past twelve hours, going in circles so many times that he was left dizzy and slightly nauseated. In retrospect, he knew that he should have broken up with Annabel a long time ago, but he also knew that the whole time he'd been secretly hoping for something like this to happen. For her to show up somewhere and catch him in the act, letting him off the hook. It might have been cowardly, but the more he tried to pull away from Annabel the more tightly she seemed to want to hang on; he wasn't sure that anything less than catching him in the act would have convinced her to go. As it was, she'd spent nearly an hour last night begging him to take her back. It had been miserable; a messy, dramatic, horrible breakup, and when he'd finally returned to his and Lynette's room, it had only been to get into a fight with her as well. A fight that was obviously never going to end.

"I don't understand why you're so upset," he said through gritted teeth. It was the only way he could manage to keep from yelling. "I thought you'd be happy that she's finally out of the picture."

"I would be if that's all that happened. But it's not. This is going to get out all over work now, you know that, right? And of the two of us, guess whose reputation is at stake?"

"She's not going to say anything."

"How do you know?"

"Because."

"Wow. That's very reassuring. Thank you so much."

Tom shook his head, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. She was clearly upset, but he didn't know what to do or say to make her feel better. He couldn't change what had happened; he couldn't stop Annabel from saying anything if she wanted to (although he really didn't believe she would); he apparently couldn't make Lynette believe him. Worst of all, he was beginning to fear that he'd blown it with her. If she couldn't get past this, that was it; they were done. He wasn't ready for that, but he also had no idea how to fix this.

"This is probably going to come out wrong," he said, sitting up straight and bracing his hands on the hood of the car. "But I really wanted to have sex with you this weekend."

"You want to have sex? We can still have sex."

Tom gaped at her, never more shocked in his entire life than he was in that moment. "We…We can?"

"Sure."

"I—Wha—_Why_?"

Lynette rolled her eyes. "Believe it or not, Tom, I agreed to go away with you this weekend because I wanted to have sex with you too. Unfortunately, your girlfriend showing up kind of spoiled the mood."

Tom bit back the caustic response on the tip of his tongue, still enticed by the slight indication that he might not have totally blown this. "But we can still have sex?"

"If you apologize."

"Apologize for what? You're the one who overreacted. I told you exactly what happened and you're still grilling me about it."

Lynette shrugged with exaggerated indifference, a falsely innocuous smile plastered on her face. Suddenly, Tom suspected that this entire demand was quite possibly just revenge for what he'd said in the car. He'd taken control of the situation from her, now she was going to do the same to him. Somehow, he was ticked off and turned on at the same time; so very, very torn between keeping his pride in tact and getting laid. Apparently his ambivalence showed on his face, because Lynette quirked an eyebrow in a way that clearly suggested she thought she'd won.

"It's a pretty simple request, Tom."

"Certainly seems that way, doesn't it?"

They stared at one another, her eyes daring him to do as she asked—taunting and devilish and practically irresistible. In that moment, it occurred to him that it would be easy to apologize to her (that she probably even deserved it, at least for what he'd said in the car). But maybe the problem was that it was too easy. He loved a challenge; that was what had attracted him to her in the first place. Maybe now was the perfect opportunity to remind her of this fact.

Slowly, Tom slid off of the car and stood in front of her, setting his hands on her shoulders and squeezing them gently. Lynette smiled up at him triumphantly. He let her savor her moment for a minute, secretly enjoying the idea that he was about to turn the tables on her. Then, just as she seemed about to lose patience, he leaned toward her until their lips were millimeters apart, gently nudging her nose with his and just breathing her in. Lynette's eyes fluttered shut, and he smiled. This was going to be so much fun.

Gradually, he closed the remaining space between their lips, kissing her so softly that it was really just his lips brushing against hers. One of Lynette's hands drifted to his shirt and she clenched it in her fist, and Tom slid his tongue over her lower lip. In all of his life, he could never remember going at such an agonizing pace, but the ache seemed to be worth it. Lynette opened her mouth against his, deepening their kiss of her own accord. The woman could do marvelous things with her tongue (he was sure he hadn't even touched on the extent of her talent, yet), and for several minutes, Tom indulged in the intensity of her kisses. When he finally pulled back, she was smiling genuinely for the first time, but he only let himself stare at her for a second before he began to kiss his way down her neck.

"Tom," she said, her cheek resting against his head as he continuously pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat. Involuntarily, his hands stiffened at the breathy sound of her voice. "What are you doing?"

He ran his tongue along her collar bone to her shoulder, pushing her tank top out of the way for the second time that day. "Apologizing," he mumbled into her skin. "Just like you asked."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh?" He forced himself not to smile, and pulled back so he could look at her. "Does it seem insincere?"

Before she could respond, he gathered the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, not really surprised when she didn't protest. She seemed like she had a bit of a wild side, even if she didn't flaunt that fact. "Lynette?" he prompted, secretly pleased that he'd derailed her train of thought.

"I would have settled for 'I'm sorry.'"

Tom leaned forward, lips right by her ear. "You don't seem like someone who should settle for anything." He kissed the rim of her ear, and then gently pushed her back so she lay flat against the car. "Right?"

"You're manipulating me."

"Maybe," he agreed, hovering over her. There was a tentative look in her eyes that made him hesitate for a moment, and he brushed some of her hair away from her face. This couldn't just be about winning or proving a point, not if he wanted it to last. Not if he wanted it to mean anything. "But I am sorry," he added sincerely. "Especially about what I said in the car."

Lynette put her hands on his cheeks, cautiously holding him in place. She looked like she was carefully considering her words, weighing them in her mind as though they were going to cost her something. "Do you know why I was so upset?"

Tom could think of about ten reasons, but settled for saying, "Because I was pushing your buttons. You didn't like the dirty talk, and I knew it, but I kept going anyway."

"I don't mind the dirty talk."

"Huh?"

"I don't mind the dirty talk," she repeated emphatically, as though she was talking to someone slow on the uptake. "And I kind of like being your fantasy."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm not usually…the fantasy. And coming from you, it's exciting. Especially because I've been thinking about you that way too."

Tom was considerably flabbergasted now. She'd thrown him for a loop, and he sincerely didn't know what to think of the situation. "You have?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Well then why were you so upset?"

"Because I was mad about last night, and you weren't sorry at all. I'm still not sure you're sorry."

"For last night?"

"You made me feel really cheap. I don't know. Maybe I let you make me feel cheap. Either way, I didn't like it."

Tom frowned, replaying the events of the previous night in greater detail than he had yet. He and Lynette had just gotten up to the room when Annabel showed up. She'd been screaming accusations at him—most of which were true—and he'd finally left the room to go talk to her in private. They'd ended up down at the pool, which was closed at the late hour, and spent nearly three hours breaking up. By the time he'd gotten back to Lynette, he'd been exhausted, and when she asked what had happened, he'd snapped, "We broke up, what do you think?" It had been all downhill from there.

Hesitantly, he ventured, "You know you're the one I want to be with, right? You're not _just_ the fantasy."

"I'm not?"

"Of course not. I'm just pathetic and couldn't work up the courage to break up with Annabel. Trust me, you're all I've wanted for awhile now."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. And if I made you feel any less than that then I really am sorry."

Lynette gave him a somewhat watery smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. This time he wasn't so gentle, kissing her more deeply than he had before. Despite her response earlier, Tom could tell that she must have been holding back; there was a passion in her kiss now that hadn't been present previously. "Well," she breathed as he pulled back to start kissing along her jaw, "are you going to fuck me now?"

Tom lifted his head and looked down at her seriously. "I think I need to finish apologizing."

"Tom—"

"Shh." He covered her mouth with his hand, not exerting any real pressure, but silencing her just the same. "Just trust me on this."

She nodded, and he smiled. There would be plenty of time to indulge both of their fantasies; this moment was greater than that.

Tenderly, he ran his hands over her breasts, unhooking the front clasp of her bra and drawing it away. Determined to take his time, Tom slowly ran his fingertips along the sides of her breasts, stroking down and then back up with his fingernails. Lynette shivered, her nipples rising to points, and he bit his lip to keep from devouring them right then. Gently, he smoothed his palms over her nipples, barely touching them. The stimulation seemed to be too much teasing for her, however. She reached up and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down toward her impatiently.

With a feigned calmness, Tom exhaled against her nipple, teasing her and torturing himself at the same time. Lynette arched her back, but he simply moved to her other breast and repeated the action, following up this time by running his tongue around her areola. Moaning, she tightened her hold on his neck, urging him on, but Tom simply flicked his tongue over the tip of her nipple, barely touching it. He moved back to the other breast, echoing the treatment, and then sucked her nipple into his mouth, nibbling on it at the same time. Lynette gasped; encouraged, he reached up to tweak the nipple not in his mouth, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

"How does that feel?" he asked, running his tongue along the underside of her breast and then kissing the other.

"Fucking fantastic."

"Mmm." He chuckled, and reluctantly moved away from her breasts in order to press kisses all over her stomach. Briefly, he dipped his tongue into her bellybutton, simultaneously moving his hands to her pants. He undid the button and zipper without blinking, and she raised her hips so he could pull her pants off. She hadn't been lying about her panties: simple white cotton, they couldn't have been further from the black lace he'd envisioned if she'd tried. The reality was still better. Grinning down at her, he ran the back of hand along the curve of her hip and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"You're sensitive there."

"Tom—"

He bent and ran his tongue over the same spot, hands firm on her thighs to keep her from moving. She squirmed against him, but he didn't stop. "Oh!" she hissed, her hips rising as his teeth scraped against her skin. "Oh, God!"

"You know how much fun this is going to be?" he murmured. "Finding all your sensitive spots?"

"That—" She gasped and shivered from head to toe. "That goes both ways."

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to that too."

Lynette seemed to take the words to heart, grasping at his t-shirt and yanking it over his head without any regard for his ears or chin. Not willing to lose body parts in her eagerness, he backed away for a second to pull it off himself, taking a moment to unbutton his pants as well. She didn't give him much time; before he'd even stepped out of his pants, she had pulled him back down to kiss him. Her nipples were hard against his bare chest, but the sensation was almost overpowered by the feel of her hands running up and down the length of his back, fingernails scraping under the waistband of his boxers. He groaned into her mouth and tugged at her underwear, managing to pull them down to her knees. Lynette did the rest of the work, squirming out of them and letting them fall to the ground.

Still not finished teasing her, Tom began to kiss his way back down her body, purposely skipping her most sensitive areas and settling at her inner thigh instead. He licked all the way up to the v of her legs and then moved to the other side to go back down, marveling in the thick, mewling sound she made in response. Slowly he brushed his hand against her soft curls, slipping one finger between her lips and finding her clit practically vibrating with life. He rubbed it firmly and her hips lifted from the hood of the car, nearly taunting him to continue. "No," she said, as he shifted his hand and pressed the tip of his finger inside of her. "No, please. Not with your fingers."

He kissed her inner thigh again and then stood, dropping his boxers and grasping her hips to pull her to the edge of the hood. He rubbed his hand over the length of his dick a few times, but it wasn't really necessary. He was so hard that he knew he wouldn't last long; he could only hope that he'd pushed her close enough to the edge that she'd get something out of it too.

Slowly, he guided the tip of his cock to her opening, pressing inside for just a second and then pulling out again. Lynette groaned in frustration, but he repeated the action another three times before finally pushing all the way into her. She was tight, so fucking tight that he had to shut his eyes and concentrate on breathing just to keep from coming right then. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to realize this and began to grind her hips against him.

"Come on," she moaned. "You've gotta move. Please."

Tom bent, kissing her soundly and trying hard to ignore the movements of her lower body. "I need a minute," he breathed against her. "You're fucking strangling my cock."

As if to punish him, Lynette squeezed her muscles even more tightly around him, her hands digging into his ass and pushing him more deeply inside of her. "You're not the only one who's close," she hissed. "Just fuck me. Please."

Tom nodded, kissing her again and tentatively moving out and then in. She moaned in frustration, clearly eager for him to go faster, and he finally gave up. Firmly planting his hands on either side of the car, he began to thrust faster, his balls slapping against her as he increased his speed. She sucked in a hard breath, fingernails digging into his shoulders so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if she drew blood. He didn't care. It felt so fucking good. Being inside of her, finally; hearing her moan; watching her writhe beneath him like she couldn't even stand it. Tom couldn't last much longer.

"Touch me," she begged. Her back arched as he hit a particularly vulnerable spot and at the same moment, he moved his right hand to rub against her. The combination proved to be too much, and she shut her eyes tight, her mouth opening in a silent scream like he'd literally taken her breath away. The sight of her orgasm was too much for Tom, and he quickly pulled out, stroking his dick for just a few seconds before exploding against her thigh.

"Fuck," he sighed, leaning forward and pressing his weight against her. She felt so soft underneath him, curvy and feminine and still trembling slightly. He felt hyper-aware of her suddenly, almost as if he'd never really known anything about her until this moment.

"That was a great apology," she murmured, a laugh ringing through every word. "Maybe too good. I'm not sure I can even move."

"Don't need to move." He shut his eyes and pressed a kiss against her shoulder. "I'm very comfortable."

"We're naked on the side of a road. I don't care how back woods this is, someone is going to drive by eventually."

Tom sighed, not wanting to acquiesce the point, but realizing that it was a valid one. They were lucky that no one had happened by yet. Slowly, he stood, picking up his boxers from the ground and wiping away the semen from her thigh. She sat up as he did, and when he looked at her, he was surprised to see some strangely tender look in her eyes. "Thanks," she said quietly.

He shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable, and wiped himself off as well before pulling his jeans back on. Lynette stood and dressed as well, also foregoing her underwear; he grinned as she stuffed them into her pocket, liking that he now knew exactly what she had on under her clothes. It was going to make every fantasy so much better.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." He reached out and took her hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing gently. Together, they began the long walk back to the gas station.


	4. The Storm

**Disclaimer: **This is in no way mine. I promise.

**A/n: **Thank you to everyone who has read and especially to those of you who have reviewed! You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this chapter too.

-Ryeloza

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Four: The Storm**

At this moment, Lynette was certain of two things.

First, at some point she had surpassed finding enjoyment in being crowded into a tiny house with too many people, loud music and no air. She thought that in some way this realization should have made her feel old, but mostly she felt self-assured. Like she had slipped into her thirties with some sort of grace and maturity that she'd never felt in her late teens or early twenties. Of course, this awareness did little to ease the ache she felt to go outside and get some air.

Her second certainty was more off-putting; a blush-inducing knowledge that made her feel ridiculously girlish again. All night, she had been tracking Tom Scavo with her eyes, sensitive at all times to where he was and what he was doing. She really hadn't noticed that she was doing it at first; it wasn't until their eyes met inadvertently for the third time that she comprehended how often she'd been watching him tonight. It was embarrassing, to say the least—behaving like a teenage girl with her first crush, hoping he'd come talk to her, heart pounding like a jackhammer whenever he glanced her way.

Of course, as a teenager, she'd never snuck around with another girl's boyfriend, letting him steal kisses when no one was looking and round second base behind the closed door of her office.

The worst part about it was that he really shouldn't matter. They were two people giving in to a mutual attraction and getting high off a rush of doing something they weren't supposed to do. Crossing verboten boundaries had almost become a drug to her now—a kiss here, a touch there, one extra button left undone or a whisper of the fantasy of some inappropriate behavior. It was not a relationship meant for long gazes or daydreams, and certainly not for secret wishes that the cute boy would come whisk her away.

Make that three things she was certain of—she was acting insane.

Refusing to give in to this silliness any longer, Lynette pushed her way through the throng of partygoers to the sliding glass doors in the kitchen and quietly slipped outside. Even with the sun down, the heat instantly hit her like a wave, the air thick and heavy with humidity. It was supposed to rain that night; right now it felt as though the world was begging for that release. Carefully, Lynette made her way through the back yard, eager to disappear into the shadows before someone noticed she'd left. It was difficult to see in the moonless night, and as she wandered further into the yard, she came just short of walking into a trampoline.

"What the hell?" She reached out and tentatively ran her hand over the netting that surrounded the perimeter, the type that parents put up to keep their kids from falling off of the trampoline and breaking their necks. Curious, she walked around until she found the opening in the net, parted it, and hoisted herself up to sit on the hard edge, letting her sandals fall onto the soft grass below. For the first time all night, she felt a sense of calm settle over her, and she was able to focus on her thoughts rather than her feelings.

Something had to give with Tom. She was teetering very close to actually having feelings for him, which could only be a disaster waiting to happen. At worst, he'd realize this and manipulate her until he got bored and ended it—that alone was enough of a deterrent that she couldn't let herself envision the best case scenario.

Of course, it wasn't as though Tom had been leading her on; if anything, she had been the one to start this physical relationship, unintended as it was. The first time they'd ever kissed, it had been more of an accident than anything meaningful. They'd pulled an all-nighter at work, and she'd been delirious from lack of sleep. In some impulsive fit of exhaustion, she'd pecked him on the lips, an action so friendly and innocuous that she could have easily ignored it. But Tom, probably as fatigued as she was, had hesitated only a second before returning the kiss with tenfold the passion. From that point, things had only escalated, attraction spurring a physical relationship that was going no where fast.

"Lynette?"

Speak of the devil.

She took a deep breath, desperately trying to ignore the way her chest had gotten tight at the sound of his voice. Before she could respond, though, he found her hiding spot. A look of amusement and what appeared to be genuine awe lit up his face as he stepped toward her; he didn't touch her, and his eyes raked over the trampoline until he finally smiled down at her. "Are you seriously sitting on a trampoline right now?"

"I think Ben has a kid."

Tom leaned over her; immediately her breath quickened and her hands became clammy. She could smell his aftershave mixed with the slightly heady scent of his sweat, the slightest tinge of alcohol on his breath, and it instantly intoxicated her. Still, he didn't touch her, simply pulling back the opening of the net and peering inside. "What are you doing?" she asked. Somehow, her voice came out steady and strong.

"What do you think?" He glanced at her, grinning. "It's a trampoline." Then, before she even registered what was happening, he took off his shoes, climbed up next to her and brushed past her to roll onto the mat.

"Tom…"

He didn't respond. A moment later, the springs tightened and the trampoline began to shake as he stood and took a few tentative jumps. She rolled her eyes, yet wasn't surprised when she felt Tom hands slip under her arms and hoist her up to join him. A naughty thrill went through her at the sensation—he'd picked her up as though she was a rag doll; there was an exhilarating fear in how easily he could overwhelm her, one she wanted to indulge if only because she knew he wouldn't hurt her. She'd always been a contradiction, willing to give up all of her hard edges and control the second she let go of all thought and just felt. Around Tom, this was all too easy to do at times.

Within the cocoon of the trampoline, she could barely see two inches in front of her face, and she nearly tripped as Tom took her hands and bounced gently, squeezing her fingers as some subtle form of encouragement. "Come on," he said. Part of him was laughing at her. "When was the last time you were on one of these things?"

"Never."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not a gymnast."

Halting his vertical movement, he stepped toward her and wrapped an arm around the small of her back. "No," he agreed, voice dropping to that deep register that she'd begun associating with pleasure. He pulled her closer to him. "But I bet you bend like one."

"Mmm," she hummed ambiguously. His other hand slipped down to cup her ass and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You know what _I've_ never done on a trampoline?"

"I have some ideas."

"I'll bet you do."

Tom leaned down to kiss her, and she melted the second his lips touched her. Every time he kissed her, she felt like she'd been waiting forever, the time between each kiss stretching out like interminable torture. Languorously, she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his short hair. This was exactly why her mind shut down in his presence—soft lips, firm tongue, just this incredible lightheaded feeling like she was soaring. He drove her crazy.

A rumble of thunder sounded far in the distance, and Lynette reluctantly pulled back. "It's going to rain."

"So?"

She quirked an eyebrow, attempting to slip from his grip and put some distance between them, but Tom moved his hand to her hips and held her firmly in place. "A little rain never hurt anyone."

"What are you saying, Tom?"

For the first time, all of the laughter faded from Tom's face, and even in the dark she could see his eyes growing deep and serious. Gently, he raised a hand to brush her hair away from her face, and then his fingers trailed lightly down her neck to her shoulder. Despite the sweltering heat, she shivered.

"Have you ever wanted something so badly that you thought you'd go crazy if you didn't get it?"

Lynette shook her head, more in disbelief than disagreement. There was no way that he was seriously suggesting they have sex on a trampoline at the engagement party of one of their co-workers. Not with dozens of people not thirty feet away. Not when it was about to pour down rain. Not when she was clearly so far gone that she was actually considering agreeing to this proposition.

Reluctantly, mostly against her better reason, she admitted, "I think I'm already crazy."

"What does that mean?"

She sighed, halfheartedly putting her hands on his chest and pushing him away from her. He stumbled a bit on the unstable surface. How absurd that they were finally going to have this conversation here. "Just…Don't touch me, okay?"

"Lynette—"

"I don't think clearly around you anymore," she said more harshly than she intended. It came out as an accusation. "My head goes out the window and all I can think about is sex."

Tom's eyes widened, some smug smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. "That might be the best compliment anyone's ever given me."

"Don't joke around right now."

"Who's joking?"

"Tom." She frowned. This wasn't coming out right; belatedly, she realized that she couldn't be subtle. Of all the times that her forthright nature had gotten her into trouble, this was one occasion where it could save her. "If we sleep together, it's not just going to be sex."

"Okay."

"No. It's not okay. Rationally, I know that whatever is going on between us is just fun, but somehow my emotions have gotten all tied up in it. I can't separate them anymore."

"I didn't know we were supposed to."

Lynette shook her head, perturbed by his lackadaisical attitude. As much as she liked his goofy charm, this was one time that she needed him to be serious. "Please don't make fun of me."

"Hey, no—I'm not—" He stepped forward and grasped her chin, tipping her head back so she had to look up at him. Against reason, she didn't shove him away. "Whatever's going on here—It's not just sex."

"Yeah right.'

"I know we've been fooling around…a lot."

Ominously, the thunder sounded again, louder this time. Lynette shut her eyes, sure she couldn't bear another moment of this. She was going to implode.

"And I know that this is going to sound like a line, but it's not. Lynette?" He paused until she reluctantly looked at him again. His eyes pierced her straight to her soul; in that moment, it hardly mattered what he was going to say. She was lost. "I can't stop thinking about you. Not just because I want to sleep with you, but because I can't wait to see you every day. To talk to you. To kiss you." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers and letting out a deep sigh. She trembled from head to toe. "And, yeah, I really, really want to have sex with you. But I also want it to be more than that."

Something damp struck her cheek; for a brief second, she thought she was crying. Slowly, she realized that it had begun to rain, warm droplets gently falling from the endless black sky above them.

"Tell me I can trust you," she pleaded. It didn't mean much; it was only one last desperate wish for a guarantee she could never really get before she succumbed to the inevitable.

"You can trust me."

She nodded, tilting her head to the side and pressing her lips against his. This was one of those moments where the risk felt worth the gain. Despite knowing that this could be the worst mistake she ever made, every fiber of her being wanted to give in. Even if she got hurt—and, truthfully, the chances were better than not that at some point she would—right now, nothing could mean more than surrendering herself, mind, body and soul. It was the prerogative of the rash; desires now, consequences later.

She was nothing if not impulsive.

Fumblingly, she tried to unbutton Tom's shirt, but her fingers were trembling so badly the she couldn't manipulate buttonholes. Tom seemed to realize she was struggling, her nerves and adrenaline in overdrive, and he took hold of her hands and lowered them. Pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, the whisper of his voice cut through rain and thunder like a whip. "Relax." His lips moved down along her jaw. "Lie down."

Lynette's stomach somersaulted. The unexpected, bold control he had over the situation was as much of a turn-on as anything else, and she found herself quickly following his command. On her back, it was impossible to see anything—she shut her eyes against the pouring rain and simply reveled in the anticipation. She could feel the mat of the trampoline shifting beneath her as Tom moved, but she could tell that he still stood over her. In the interminable wait, she concentrated on her breathing, long, slow and deep, but it did little to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Finally, Tom knelt down between her legs; his hands skimmed along the waistband of her skirt until his fingers found the zipper, and he slowly removed the garment along with her panties.

To her surprise, Tom lifted her right leg, kissing the inside of her ankle and then repeating the action until he reached her knee. As he moved along, he let her leg rest against his shoulder. He'd removed his shirt and his skin was soft and smooth against her bare calf. With her eyes shut, every sensation was heightened—every touch electric against her skin, every kiss an exquisite burn. Still, she wanted to look; she wanted to see him, to watch him watching her.

Slipping her leg from where it was crooked over Tom's shoulder, Lynette sat up and brushed her sopping hair away from her face. Tom gazed at her, a slightly anxious expression playing on his face, and she practically fell forward to kiss him. Their tongues clashed, warring with one another in a deep, passionate embrace, and as she climbed up into his lap, she could feel his dick pressing into her thigh.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky for a second, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Lynette tried to pull back, but Tom held to her firmly, hand twisting in her hair to keep her in place. Moaning, she shifted her lower body and ground herself against him—an explicit attempt to relieve the throbbing ache between her legs.

"Touching you," mumbled Tom, mouth against her lips and skin, apparently unable to break from her even to speak. "I feel so alive."

Lynette cupped his cheeks with her hands, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and gently biting down. Tom groaned, his own hands settling on her ass and squeezing her tightly. "Like being on fire," she amended. "Burning alive."

"If this is dying then it's not so bad."

She giggled, the laughter heightened to hysterics because she was just feeling too damn much. The sensations were bubbling over and falling out of her like she'd lost control of her entire body. Unable to take another moment, she reached down and grasped his dick, running her hand over the length of it. Tom gasped, his breath shortening and his grip on her tightening; she grinned. Slowly, she raised her hips, guiding the tip of his cock to her opening and lowering herself down until her was fully inside of her.

"Oh God," she hissed. She threw her head back; the rain beat down on her face, an incessant force, but she almost didn't notice. Tom held her hips, helping to guide her rhythm as she clenched his shoulders for balance. Every movement was tremulous on the unsteady surface of the trampoline; it created the sensation that they were about to fall—she thought that maybe they would; she certainly felt as though she was about to float out into the dark, endless night and never be seen again.

"What do you want?" Tom's voice cut through the fog in her head and she lowered her head to lean forward and kiss him again. "What are you feeling?"

"Fuck. You—You feel so thick inside of me. I'm going to split in two."

Tom dipped his head and bit her shoulder. "Clench your muscles," he muttered. "I want you so tight around me that I can't breathe."

His words intensified the hot, tight sensation deep inside of her, and without thinking, she did as he asked, squeezing herself around his dick. Tom released a shaky breath and she felt every muscle in her body tense up exquisitely. "Fuck," he groaned. "Oh fuck, your pussy feels so good."

Like some form of encouragement, Lynette only began to move faster, rolling her hips as Tom pressed up into her. "Touch me," she begged, digging her nails into his shoulders. "I need you to touch me."

Tom dragged his hand down over her shirt, pausing to let his fingers play along the sensitive skin of her stomach. Impatient, she pushed his hand further, ignoring how he laughed at her eagerness. He didn't understand how close she was—he didn't understand that if she didn't find release soon then she was going to go insane.

More gently than she wanted, he parted her lips and ran one finger over her clit. She shook her head, trying and failing to be coherent. The best she could manage was to gasp, "Harder. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harder."

Tom seemed to be finished torturing her; he began to rub his fingers against her so hard and fast that the friction was unbearable. Her back arched and she squeezed her legs around his waist, toes curling as her entire body seized up in some terrible ecstasy. Suddenly, Tom moved, pushing her onto her back again and using the leverage to pound into her. Stars exploded behind her eyes—whatever pleasure she'd felt just a moment before was nothing compared to this. Seconds later, Tom tightened inside of her, filling her like molten lava. Lynette blew out a long, low breath, desperately trying to take back control of her body, but she was beginning to think that there was no hope she'd ever regain her senses.

"Shit," hissed Tom. He collapsed on top of her, a warm, solid mass of masculinity, and she ran her hands over his back. "Fuck. You are…" He finished the sentiment by kissing her soundly, apparently as unable to speak as she was. The words didn't matter, though—they never really had. They were feeling—impulsive, instinctive, overwhelming feeling; two stars whose collision had been inevitable. She knew now that there had been no stopping this.

If she believed in fate…

They lay in silence, simply reveling in one another as the rain continued to pour down on top of them.


	5. Stupid and Crazy

**Disclaimer: **I promise that it's not mine.

**A/n: **Apparently taking a week off left me a bit pent up. I'm trying to get caught up on some of these multi-chapters fics so not as many of them are hanging out in limbo. I very much hope you enjoy this one.

Reviews are wonderful things; they give me a sugar high—like cookies. And that gives me crazy energy so I can keep writing. So please review.

Enjoy!

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Five: Stupid and Crazy**

Tom hated coming back to the office late at night: silently climbing the stairs because the elevators were shut down after eight and emerging slightly winded to a deserted tenth floor. There was something about the low lighting and overt silence that gave him the creeps, even though he wasn't the type of person to get spooked easily. Of course, desperate times called for desperate measures, and this particular Friday night, no amount of ghostly aesthetics would keep him from his office.

Resisting the urge to tiptoe, Tom instead hurried through the lobby and down the hall toward his office. All he had to do was get the bottle of tequila stashed in his desk drawer and get out. If he drank his brains out tonight he could spend Saturday hungover, the perfect way to deal with this particular birthday. As he reached the end of the hall, he frowned at the beam of light peering out of Lynette's partially shut office door. It was after eleven on a Friday; did the woman really have that little of a life?

Vowing to ignore her, Tom slipped into his office and fumbled through the dark to rummage through his desk for the bottle. He found it easily, pulling it out and tucking it under his arm, but as he crept back into the hall, he couldn't help but cast another hopeless glance at the office across from his. She must have heard him; it was too quiet not to hear the slightest noise. Would it really hurt him to say hello?

_Don't do it_, his brain warned him even as he stepped like a moth toward the flame. _She'll draw you in. She always does._

Disregarding his own warning, Tom poked his head inside the office, but Lynette wasn't hard at work as he'd expected. Head cradled on her arms, hair fanned out halo-like around her, she'd fallen asleep at her desk. Tom grinned for a moment, wickedly considering leaving her to wake up with a horribly stiff neck, and then decided to do the nice thing. Opening the door completely, he stepped inside and loudly cleared his throat. "Lynette!"

She gasped (he was utterly unsurprised that she such a nervous sleeper), and sat bolt upright, looking around frantically. Her cheek was red from where it had pressed into her wrist; hair a bedraggled mess compared to the neat updo it had been in earlier. When she finally spotted him, seemingly regaining her senses, she frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Unable to help himself (especially egged on by her ungratefulness), Tom smirked. "I work here."

"I mean," she said, glancing at her watch, "it's almost midnight."

"Yeah." Tom shrugged, crossing the room and hopping up on her desk. Explanatorily, he waved the bottle of tequila, but Lynette just leaned back in her chair as though she needed to keep their physical proximity at least at a three foot distance. With restraint, he managed not to roll his eyes. "I needed a drink."

"Isn't that what bars are for?"

"Usually. But this is free, and I can enjoy it until I pass out in the comfort of my own home."

Lynette shook her head and tossed the pen she'd been holding even in her sleep onto her desk. As always, Tom found it nearly impossible to decipher the look on her face—like she was laughing at him and yet interested in what he said all at once. It made no sense. "Anyway," he said, sliding off of her desk and heading back toward the door, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't drool all over your papers."

"Very thoughtful."

"Yeah, well…" Tom turned, surprised to see that Lynette had stood as well; she was leaning against her desk now, arms crossed. At some point—had it been that way since he walked in?—she'd undone another button on her shirt, and Tom could see the swell of her breasts peeking out. As though magnetized, his eyes kept trying to drift from her face to her chest, and finally he compromised by focusing on the wall over her shoulder instead. Swallowing, he finished, "…I'm a thoughtful guy."

"Are you really going home to drink alone? That's kind of pathetic."

Tom rolled his eyes. It was becoming increasingly clear to him that Lynette was incapable of saying anything less than genuine; he didn't entirely mean that as a compliment either. Defensively, he parried: "I'm sure you've never shot back a few glasses at home."

"I'm just saying you, me and the tequila are all here right now."

"Yeah." Tom glanced at the bottle as the words fought through the fog in his brain. "Oh!" he gasped, giving her a startled look. A sardonic smile played at the corners of her mouth, but he was still fairly certain she'd meant what she said. "Right. You…You want a drink?"

"I think there's salt in the break room."

"We don't have limes."

Lynette's smile turned to a grin. It made him feel like he was playing a very dangerous game of cat and mouse. "I might be able to scrounge up a few. I'll be right back."

Tom slid out of her way before she even got close enough to touch him. Maybe, he realized dimly, she wasn't the only one purposely keeping distance between them. Not willing to dissect that idea any further (nor ponder why he'd actually just agreed to stay here and do shots with her), Tom flopped down on a chair and opened the bottle. Glancing at the door, he took one quick swig; without wanting to admit it, he knew he was steeling himself for whatever curveball she threw next.

It really would be ungenerous of him to say that he didn't like Lynette, but generally whenever he was around her he felt more uncomfortable than not. For someone so straightforward, most of the time he had no idea what she was thinking, and in some strange way that made her terrifying. Unfortunately, with fear came allure: he'd always been the type of person who wanted to conquer his fear instead of letting his fear conquer him. No matter how many times someone told him fire was hot and dangerous, he still had to touch it and find out for himself. This instance, really, was the same; an annoying version of tug-of-war where he constantly battled wanting to stay away from her and figure her out all at once.

That was how he'd ended up here. Because if he was truthful, he'd admit that nothing good could come of doing shots with his attractive co-worker in the middle of the night.

"Here we go," said Lynette, her voice making him jump out of his skin. He turned to see she had a precarious hold on two limes, a knife and a salt shaker. "Jackson got a fruit basket from one of his clients. Unfortunately, it seems limes aren't a big fruit basket staple."

"You hijacked a fruit basket?"

Lynette shrugged, setting the items down on her desk and immediately hacking one of the limes with a knife. "He's not going to notice a couple of missing limes. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole basket ends up in the trash tomorrow."

"What a waste," said Tom. He cringed; of all the platitudes that made him sound like his mother…

To his surprise, Lynette flashed him a soft smile that he returned with a self-deprecating grin. For a minute, neither of them spoke, and only the sound of the knife plunging through the lime broke the silence. "There," Lynette said, lining the limes up on the edge of her desk; impossibly, she'd ended up with an uneven eleven slices. His instinct to question this was on the tip of his tongue, but Lynette surprised him by grabbing one mug out of her side desk drawer and then sitting down on the floor near his feet. His bewilderment must have shown because her brow furrowed as she reached for the bottle. "What?"

"Eleven?"

"We're going to play a game."

"I thought we already were," muttered Tom, but Lynette either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. Childishly, she tugged on his pant-leg until he joined her on the floor. "Okay," he sighed as she set the mug and salt shaker between them, following this by lining five lime slices in front of each of them. The extra one went to the side. "What are we doing?"

"Variation on truth or dare."

"Is this summer camp?"

"You were a good kid, weren't you?"

"Not _that_ good."

Lynette's smirk faded as she looked up into his eyes, and he felt as though he'd taken the first point in their unspoken game. Somewhat less assured than she'd been, she explained, "Instead of a dare, you take a shot. You get to hear the question before you decide. First person to six loses."

"Or wins."

"Depends on how you look at it." Lynette shifted slightly to face him and clapped her hands on her knees. "Who goes first?"

"This is your game."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll ask the first question. What happened tonight that made you decide to get wasted?"

Tom's eyes widened; Lynette grinned evilly. Leave it to her not to set the tone at innocuous. "Tomorrow is my birthday," he admitted.

"Happy birthday. How old?"

"You can't ask a question within a question."

"Says who?"

"Me."

"Fine. So you decided you celebrate your birthday by passing out alone?"

Tom shook his head incredulously. "Do you ever shut up?"

"Sorry."

"Can I finish now?"

"Yes, you can _finish now_."

Ignoring her mockery with effort, Tom traced the tip of the mug with his fingertip and continued. "So I was supposed to go out to dinner with my girlfriend, and she thought it would be a great surprise to invite my whole family. We get there and my parents, my brother and sister, their spouses—all there waiting. Needless to say that the whole thing got off track when my mom decided to start needling me about marriage."

"You don't want to get married?" Tom barely managed to scowl before Lynette held up a conciliatory hand. "Sorry."

"Anyway," he continued with a beleaguered sigh, "my girlfriend was all over that. It's all I've been hearing from her for a month now. Then my parents started arguing, and my sister had a few too many drinks and had to add her two cents. The night ended with Annabel and I having a huge fight. She went home, and I came here."

"Rough night."

Tom grunted in response, nearly picking up the mug and drinking before he realized that wasn't part of the rules. Annoyed that he hadn't thought to just drink, he braced his hands on the floor and leaned back, watching her carefully. He wanted so badly to get under her skin, but he didn't have any idea where to begin pushing a button with her.

"Your question," she prompted impatiently.

"Are you dating someone?"

"Not seriously."

Tom stared expectantly, but instead of elaborating, Lynette said, "So tomorrow you're turning…?"

"Twenty-nine." He winced; twice denied a shot by his own big mouth. "Damn it."

"That was an easy one."

"The point is to get drunk."

"You'll get there."

Letting out a pouty sigh, Tom silently vowed to drink on his next turn no matter what before volleying her the next question. "Have you ever had sex in the office?"

Lynette grinned, apparently impressed, and licked the back of her hand. As Tom watched her sprinkle the salt, lick it and take the shot, he wondered if that meant she had. It must have. She'd admit it if she hadn't—this was affirmation by omission. She bit into the lime, screwing up her face, and then let out a deep breath. "That's good tequila."

"A client sent it over."

"You must be doing something right." She smacked her lips, reminding Tom before she even spoke that he was doing a shot no matter what she asked. "Okay. Same question: have you ever had sex in the office?"

The denial was on the tip of his tongue as he mirrored Lynette's actions from a minute ago, throwing back the shot and enjoying the burn of the alcohol in his throat. Annabel was the only co-worker he'd ever dated, and adventurous was the last word he'd used to describe her. As he thought this, though, his mind drifted from his girlfriend back to Lynette—same question; same response. Suddenly he wondered if their answers were the same as well. Or maybe, he thought hopefully, she was just uncomfortable with the sex questions.

"How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

Lynette grinned broadly. She was refilling the mug, and Tom fully expected her to drink again in a moment. Instead, she said, "Seventeen. To my first serious boyfriend Joe Cartwright."

"You're kidding."

"His parents were big fans of _Bonanza_," she said, setting down the bottle and tapping the mug surreptitiously. "He wrote me a poem."

"And they say romance is dead."

She giggled, sweet and girlish, and turned the table on him. "Were you really a good kid?"

"Most of the time. I got drunk for the first time when I was fourteen. My mom caught me throwing up on her hydrangeas. It was awhile before I tried alcohol again." He paused for a second, considering, then asked, "When was the last time you played this game?"

"College. When was your first kiss?"

Tom smiled and did another shot. Some questions simply weren't worth answering. He could feel the alcohol already making him smile uncontrollably; he should have eaten more at dinner. At this rate, by the time he got to six he really would pass out. "Is your boyfriend," he asked, leaning forward and extending a finger at her, "someone we work with?"

"No. Are you going to marry Annabel?"

"God no." He snorted, tipping the mug back to see if there was any alcohol left at the bottom. Gently, Lynette reached out and took the cup from his hands. "Why are you here so late on a Friday night?"

Shaking her head, Lynette refilled the mug and did another shot. Tom watched her throw back the alcohol, his eyes sliding down the length of her neck, long and white and silky; he had the sudden, ridiculous urge to kiss her there. Suddenly, he found himself pulling off his jacket and loosening his tie. "It's hot in here," he said, as though he had to explain himself. Lynette was barely paying attention as she bit into her second lime. "Don't you think it's hot in here?"

"It's my question. Have you ever cheated on your girlfriend?"

Tom stared at her for a moment. It felt like she was inside of his head. She knew. Somehow she knew that he wanted to kiss her neck and find out if she'd moan. As insane as it sounded, she was reading his thoughts. Desperate, he did another shot; bit another lime—halfway to losing, and his thoughts were becoming less coherent by the second. "Is there a strip version of this game?"

It was one, long delayed moment before Tom realized that he shouldn't have asked that question. Lynette's eyes had gotten huge, two piercing blue orbs that saw right through him. The urge to apologize was overwhelming, but his tongue felt thick. Somehow his brain wasn't cooperating with the rest of his body. Mulling over this problem, Tom barely heard Lynette when she finally answered.

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

She shook her head, leaving him to hope that she'd said what he thought she'd said. Anxiously, he took the bottle from her and refilled the mug. "Tom," she said, forcing his attention by saying his name, "have you ever imagined me naked?"

Shocked, Tom forgot the bottle in his hand until Lynette reached out and took it from him, her hand brushing his and sending a shock through his body. It was the first time she'd ever touched him. They spent so much time and effort _not_ touching, and for what? Clearly, it was a sensation worth repeating. She had asked a question—picturing her naked? He was not supposed to be picturing her naked. Without thinking, he threw back the contents of the mug despite the fact that he'd filled it twice as high as they had been so far.

"I think," he said woozily, "that that counts as two shots."

"That puts you at five."

"Am I gonna lose?"

Lynette smiled, though he couldn't figure out why, and took her third drink. He didn't even remember asking her a question. "Okay, Tom," she said, reaching out and picking up the sixth lime. "Last question. Ready?"

Dimly, he nodded. He wondered if she'd ask if he wanted to fuck her. If she did, he was going to say yes. She was in his brain—she'd ask. He knew she'd ask.

"Do you want to do something stupid?"

Tom blinked, not quite understanding the question. Everything he'd done tonight was one stupid decision after another: sitting through that dinner; coming here; waking Lynette up; agreeing to play this game. What more could he do? Kiss her? That would be crazy. Taking another shot would be crazy. Stupid people did crazy things.

"Tom?"

He was acting stupid tonight. By that logic, he could do something crazy with no consequences.

Mind made up, Tom moved toward her, so close that their knees bumped. Lynette looked startled, but she didn't say or do anything to discourage him. In fact, her eyes flickered to his mouth, almost as though she _wanted_ him to kiss her—she had no idea that he was so far beyond that. Glancing down at her heaving chest, Tom brushed his fingers over the swell of her left breast and pushed her shirt to the side. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth and kissed her breast, letting his tongue move in lazy figure eights over her skin. She gasped, and he grinned, pulling back and picking up the salt shaker. She was watching him, fear and lust warring in her eyes, as he sprinkled the salt where he'd just kissed her.

"I'm going to do something stupid," he whispered, and without waiting for her to respond, he leaned down and licked the salt off of her chest, sat back and took his last shot. As he set down the mug, Lynette pressed the lime to his mouth, her fingertips brushing his lips as he bit the fruit. Swallowing the juice, his eyes roved over her breasts back to her lips. "Do you—"

"God yes."

She kissed him, hard and hot and heady, teeth clicking together before their mouths opened and their tongues danced over one another, silky and slithering as snakes. Immediately, his hands went to the buttons of her shirt, yanking and fumbling over them, probably ripping some of them off in his eagerness. Lynette didn't show his shirt any more careful regard; he'd never cared less. Within seconds, her hands roved over his chest, down to his abs and around to his back, and she broke their kiss so she could follow the motion of her hands with her lips and tongue. Her teeth grazed over his nipple; he hissed, and somewhat roughly wrapped a hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he could kiss her again.

"We're really going to do this," she breathed even as he continued to kiss her. "In my office."

"On your desk."

Lynette moaned, struggling to stand without breaking the kiss, a feat that only became more difficult as their height difference suddenly became pronounced. He was so drunk that his brain felt completely absent—he could only feel. Feel her skin and lips and hair, and he just wanted to fuck her so badly that nothing else seemed to matter. Her hands groped at his belt buckle, but Tom impatiently pushed them out of the way so he could do it himself. For a minute, the world was nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing as they both struggled to rid themselves of their pants; Tom got his undone first, pushing them down to his ankles and then reaching out to hurry Lynette. Apparently unperturbed by his enthusiasm, she reached out and grasped his cock, running her hand up and down the length of it, thumb skating over the tip as she teased him unbearably.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he muttered, tugging at the button of her pants until it finally snapped. His fingers grazed her hips as he pulled her pants down, not even giving her a second to step out of them before her forcibly turned her and pressed her hips against the edge of the desk, pushing her down until she lay flat on top of it. "You like it hard? Hard and fast…"

Lynette groaned as he ran his dick over her ass down to her opening and pressed the tip against her. She was already soaking wet and so, so soft that he could hardly stand it.

"Fuck me," she purred, wiggling her ass at him, trying to force him deeper inside of her. "Come on. Do it."

Tom slapped her ass lightly, grinning as she moaned and continued to contort to try to coerce him. It didn't take much; he couldn't hold out any longer. In one swift movement, he pressed himself inside of her, groaning as she gasped; she was hot and tight and practically humming around his cock. He didn't last a second before he began to pound into her, moving as fast as he could as she squirmed and arched her back. "Oh fuck yes," he muttered, leaning over her and taking hold of the other side of the desk to give him leverage. "Oh fuck, you feel so fucking good."

"Faster," she groaned. "Come on, fuck me. Fuck me so hard."

The dirty talk was too much—the brilliant things she could do with her beautiful fucking mouth. She was unbelievable. He continued to thrust against her, increasing his speed, his balls slapping against her over and over again as she moaned and gasped and made the most fucking fantastic noises. "Come on," he growled, slowing to give a couple of hard, deep thrusts. "Come on, baby, fucking cum for me, let's go."

Lynette seemed to be as affected by words as he was, sighing and rubbing herself against the desk like a woman desperately on the verge. Encouraged, Tom began to move faster again, continually murmuring in her ear, "Come on. Fuck, you feel so good. I wanna feel you so tight around me…"

With a loud, wrenching moan somewhere between a scream and a groan, Lynette did just as he asked, clenching the edge of the desk as her body convulsed, and squeezing his cock so hard that he could barely breathe. Tom continued to fuck her as she came, riding the wave of her orgasm as long as he could until he simply couldn't last another moment. He groaned as he came, body wracked with pleasure as he finally found release. Exhausted, he nearly collapsed on top of her, barely shifting his weight enough to keep from suffocating her.

"You're amazing," he sighed the moment he caught enough breath to speak. He kissed her, softly this time, savoring the feel of her lips as he hadn't before. She giggled tiredly—obviously drunk from both the alcohol and the sex; he knew that he was.

"That was my first time in an office."

Tom blinked, laughing with her without really understanding. "Huh?"

"First time I've had sex in an office."

"Oh…yeah. Me too."

Lynette kissed him again. "We can't do this again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

Tom frowned, but covered it by pecking her lips. He had no idea why not, but that was a problem for sober Tom. Right now he was just going to enjoy this one, stupid moment.


	6. In the Light

**Disclaimer: **I make absolutely no claim to these characters. Author's notes at end.

**Hook Up**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Six: In the Light**

With the newly replaced light bulb shining down in the hallway of her apartment, Lynette could now see every fissure on her door. Wood this imperfect should have meant something; it should have indicated a long life or a history or…something, but all it was was a poorly maintained door in a bad neighborhood—a sign of little love or care. This was the thought she concentrated on as she stood and struggled to fit her key into the lock, not the way Tom's hands were on her hips, fingers rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of her dress. This was the thought that she used to try to still the rapid beating of her heart, whatever poor attempt it might have been.

As her hand shook so badly that she missed the lock again, she laughed, almost hysterically, and said, "Have you ever noticed that irony is only funny if it doesn't directly involve you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that I didn't have any problems with this when I was doing it in the dark. And now…"

And now his lips pressed against the back of her head and she was pretty sure that he was smelling her hair and it was pretty much the worst thing in the world to have to admit that her inability to unlock the door had nothing to do with the newly replaced light and everything to do with him. She frowned at her own incapability—_she _had been the one to set the tone of this date after all; _she _had been the one playing footsies under the table and batting her eyelashes and inviting him up for coffee in that tone of voice that indicated that coffee was not what she meant, not at all.

Except that coffee was starting to sound like a really good idea. A solution to the fact that she was falling apart at the finish line, stripped of any control like she was doing this for the first time or something.

Of course, technically it was the first time. The first time with Tom. The first time with a man that seemed to care about her maybe too much (because he looked at her so longingly and did things like replace the light bulb in her hallway with her asking and apparently worried about her and she hadn't asked for any of that and it scared her as much as it made her heart do somersaults).

Blessedly, the key finally slipped into the lock, and she tried to ignore the way Tom chuckled as she pushed into the door with her hip because the wood swelled in the summer humidity and the door stuck. She stepped inside and flicked on the light. Before Tom could find her hips again (or some other, less innocuous body part), she continued into the apartment, flipping every switch and flicking on every lamp in sight as she padded across the carpet. She felt desperate to regain control of the situation—she had to before anything else happened—and nothing put a damper on the mood more than a room ablaze in light.

Theoretically.

In a world where a light bulb hadn't inspired this impulsiveness.

"I don't think I have any cream or sugar," she said as she toed off her heels and kicked them toward the wall. She made her way into the kitchen and turned on those lights as well, not looking at him as she pulled out the coffee pot. "You drink it black, right?"

He didn't respond, and she was forced to look over at him. He stood in the middle of the living room, staring at her a little befuddled, and she fought the smile she felt blossoming. It felt good not to be the only one off-kilter; in some strange way, it balanced her. "Uh, yeah," he finally said. "Black is great."

"Great."

"Great."

It was not great. As she busied herself setting up the coffee she didn't even really want, watching with furtive eyes, Tom shrugged off his suit jacket and did that unbearably sexy guy thing where he loosened the knot of his tie. The whole thing was so comfortable—the kind of thing a guy did when he got home (to his own home, not her home); he even flopped down on the couch with his arms and legs spread out in that possessive way, and she could only thank God that he hadn't taken off his shoes as well.

Familiarity was an unexpected turn-on in a relationship that was only three dates old.

"I like your place," said Tom. It was the first time she ever remembered him making small talk. Even when they had first met, there had been banter and long discussions about work and teasing; it was never chit-chat. She didn't know what to make of it now.

"Thanks."

"Do I get an official tour?"

Lynette snorted before she could help herself. "This is pretty much it," she said. "And the bedroom."

The bedroom: where her bed was. The place where she'd had some not-so-G-rated dreams about the man currently lounging on her couch. "It's not my dream place," she babbled, determinedly ignoring the heat in her cheeks. "But I was living with my sister, and it wasn't working, so I had to take what I could get."

"It's nice."

"It's small." She frowned, self-conscious over her inability to take a compliment, and leaned into the counter as the coffeemaker began to hiss and gurgle. "I think I'd like to be somewhere with more windows. Somewhere less…suffocating."

It was an apt word considering that she suddenly felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Tom was staring at her intently, his eyes heavy-lidded even in the bright light, and despite how innocent this conversation was, intention hung thickly in the air. No one had ever made her feel this way just from one look; it was beyond lust—something unidentifiable and heart-stopping—and she couldn't tell if it was the way he felt about her or the way she felt about him that made it so intense. Shyly, she turned and went to the cupboard to get some mugs, barely able to focus on his quiet response: "Yeah. Windows are good."

It should have been inane. Somehow he made it sound sexy. Trembling, she poured coffee into both of their mugs and walked to the couch, carefully curling into the corner to keep some space between them, a feat made harder by the way he was sprawled out. "Thanks," he said as she handed him the mug, and even though she'd never wanted coffee less in her life, she took a sip just to give herself an excuse to drop her eyes.

"So," he said, balancing the mug on his knee (he didn't want it either, she realized dully), "what else would your dream home have?"

She shrugged, thinking of the bits and pieces she had conglomerated over the years from books and glossy pictures in magazines; from visiting friends and seeing everything she didn't have. But he wasn't asking her about a feeling—about the comfort and hominess and safety that she'd never felt in any place she'd ever called home. "A porch, I guess," she said vaguely. "Or a deck. Someplace to sit outside. Someplace near water, I think."

"My grandparents had a place on a lake. We used to spend a couple of weeks up there every summer. I think you would have liked it."

She smiled fleetingly; it was lost the moment he shifted to set the mug on the coffee table, taking the opportunity to angle his body toward hers. And she knew, even before he spoke, that everything was about to shift. Her body tightened against it, heart pounding in anticipation, caught in his gaze like he was holding her captive.

"Your eyes are like water," he said softly. "Never still—a million different shades of blue. Beautiful."

In another moment with another man, it might have sounded ridiculous. Here, with Tom, her breath simply caught in her throat, eyes flicking to his lips for a second, just long enough for him to lean toward her, trapping her between his body and the arm of the couch. "Hi," he whispered, the word almost asking for permission. His fingers brushed her hair away from her forehead, and then he took her coffee and set it aside. With nothing to occupy them, her hands ached to reach out and touch him, an impulse she fought against for reasons she couldn't explain.

He was staring at her so hard.

"I had a really great time tonight."

"Me too."

He smiled, but not the way she was used to Tom smiling at her. There was something almost dangerous in the expression, knowing and promising that he wanted her badly. "I'd probably say one of the top three greatest dates of all time."

"Oh really?"

"Well, I can't be sure—haven't gathered enough data, you know? But it's a pretty safe bet."

She nodded because even though it was supposed to be funny there was nothing humorous about any of this. The power shift that had occurred in the last hour was overwhelming; she'd been so in control when she'd opened the door and found him fiddling with the light. She'd been all confidence and flirtation throughout dinner. She'd been the one to invite him up here. And at some point between the words, "Do you want to come up for coffee?" and the moment they got to her door, she'd completely fallen apart.

But God, she wanted to kiss him. Even though she didn't trust herself right now, even though this was probably too fast, she wanted to just offer herself up to him without question. She wanted to kiss him even though she knew that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop—possibly for the rest of her life.

That was the problem. Why couldn't this just be sex? Why did it have to mean so damn much?

"Why so quiet?"

His fingers were still fiddling with her hair, and even though he wasn't touching her in any other way, she felt overheated, melting right before his eyes. She couldn't seem to find her voice; what would she say anyway? That she was overwhelmed by the idea of sleeping with him even though she'd been fantasizing about it for weeks? Even thinking it felt ridiculous. Finally, she managed to murmur, "No reason."

For a second, his eyes ran over her face, incessant and searching. Whatever he saw there seemed to reassure him, and the next thing she knew, he closed the small distance between them and kissed her. It was soft, almost tentative, and out of nowhere her anxiety seemed to melt away. In her whole life, it was the most literally she'd ever been able to get lost in a moment, blocking out every thought except that Tom was a really great kisser and she really didn't want him to stop.

Gently she opened her mouth under his; it was an encouragement that he seemed to welcome. His tongue swept over her lower lip before finding its way into her mouth, and at the humming sound she made in response, his hand tightened a bit where it had come to cup the back of her head. She reached up, looping her arms around his neck, holding him against her as if he might suddenly decide to break away. It didn't seem likely given the way their tongues were dancing, an elaborate, heated tango she couldn't get enough of.

Tom turned his head, his nose nudging past hers to deepen the angle of their kiss. She felt him move; he drew his legs up onto the couch as she scooted back some and before she knew it, he was practically lying on top of her. She didn't mind. She also didn't mind the way one hand slipped around her back to draw her closer or the warmth of his chest as he hovered over her or the way her legs just seemed to fall open to give him ample room to press the lower halves of their bodies together. Eagerly, she nipped at his bottom lip, flushing from head to toe at the low, primal groan he emitted, and threaded her fingers through his hair. It was fever inducing, what his kisses were doing to her, and she could only anticipate that it got better.

Time shifted then, speeding up and slowing down at once as he suddenly switched direction; he pulled back and began to kiss her so gently that it was almost chaste, lips ghosting over hers like the faint memory of what they were just doing. It was agony in the best way; passion relived through tenderness. At the same time the hand that had pressed so insistently at her back suddenly found life, sweeping around her ribcage and teasing her through the fabric of her dress. As he cupped her breast, her back arched, the ache just so fucking exquisite that she felt her nipples pebble as though he'd done more than touch her through two layers of fabric. She turned her head slightly because it was all beginning to feel like too much, but it wasn't the slightest deterrent. His nose brushed her temple and then his lips were on her skin, kissing along her jaw, moving to her neck, teasing the hollow of her throat. And just like that, he found that spot, the little one that made her nearly curl up and die as he brushed his lips over it, and she could feel him smile against her skin.

Experimentally, his tongue darted out and circled the sensitive patch of skin. The tremor that ran through her body in response made him chuckle, this low, daring sound that washed over her like a wave. She'd never heard him laugh that way, but God she wanted him to never stop doing it. Everything was suddenly horribly teasing: lazy figure eights he drew along her neck with his tongue, warm breath sending shivers down her spine, teeth just barely nipping at her skin. Without warning, he nearly suctioned his lips against her skin, sucking and biting and kissing her, and she knew what he was doing, marking her in this way that said _mine_, and some sensible part of her thought she should argue against this sudden strain of possessiveness.

But fuck it felt good—not just what he was doing, but what it meant; knowing that she was branded by this man in a way that made her feel dirty and wanted and raw.

While he was occupied, she desperately pulled at his tie, fumbling fingers undoing the knot. Removing that one article of clothing felt like a victory of epic proportion; somehow she still had enough control to make that first move, to show him that he wasn't calling all of the shots. And with that bold thought, she moved to the buttons of his shirt and blindly began to undo each one. As she tugged his shirt out of his pants, his hand sojourned south, stopping for just a second to squeeze her hip before he continued all the way down to the hem of her dress. For a second, his fingers ran almost permissively over her left leg, and she guessed that her not batting him away was all of the go-ahead he needed. Suddenly, his hand was under her dress and she was cursing the fact that she had stockings on because she really, really needed him to actually touch her skin now. It was so distracting that she hardly noticed his lips had left her neck until she felt their foreheads bump together. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his in an equally desperate gaze, and the franticness of their actions disappeared.

They were a sight to see, she was sure. Lips swollen and hair mussed; his shirt unbuttoned; her dress nearly bunched around her waist. Both of their chests were heaving. She wondered if the tattered beating of her heart matched his as well.

When he spoke, his voice was thrillingly low, raw with a lack of control. It was a voice that made her feel powerful even as it severely increased the throbbing between her legs. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Make out like a couple of teenagers?"

There was that laugh again. He kissed her cheek. "Touch you. I have been aching to touch you for so long now."

There was something about that word—aching—that nearly undid her. Like keeping his hands to himself had been physical torment; like he'd been in pain knowing that his lips weren't allowed to kiss her. "Me too," she confessed, because it was true, and she'd spent too many nights fantasizing about things that couldn't possibly compare to this to pretend otherwise.

"Good." He shut his eyes and sighed. "I would really like to have sex with you now."

She laughed, nodding before she thought too hard, one hand finding his shoulder and urging him to sit up. As she stood, she felt his eyes on her, hard and dark as midnight, and any levity was quashed as quickly as it had come. Tentatively, she held out her hand, and he took it, standing and letting her lead him into the bedroom.

"You wanted a tour," she said in this husky voice she almost didn't recognize as her own. "This is the bedroom."

Tom's hands snaked around her waist and pulled her back against his chest; she sighed raggedly, eyes falling shut again, only to pop open in surprise when he flicked on the light. She turned, but the protest on her lips died at the look on his face. "I want to _see_ you," he said, and her heart might have burst at that moment.

She reached up and tugged his shirt off of his shoulders as her eyes took in the planes and angles of his chest. Muscles that were defined but not honed to perfection, and she liked the idea that he wasn't at the gym every day obsessing over his six-pack. She liked how real he was standing before her under these lights.

He watched her as she openly ogled his body. Knowing full well that he was going to return the favor made the fleet of butterflies in her stomach go wild. Slowly, she reached out and brushed a hand over his pec, scraping her fingernails over his nipple and grinning at his sharp intake of breath. In her bare feet, she was at the perfect height to step forward and press her lips to his chest, and she did so, letting her hands glide over the smooth muscle of his back and shoulders while her lips and tongue explored soft skin. The sounds he made were unraveling—moans caught in the back of his throat and shallow breathing, and if she had sounded anything like this earlier than it was amazing he'd managed as much control as he did.

She paused over his heart, hesitating for a second at the pounding rhythm of his desire for her, and then scraped her teeth along his skin there. It was impossible to deny her need to mark him as he'd marked her—to show him that this didn't go just one way—and she sucked hard against his skin, glad when he didn't pull away; thrilled when he reached around to hold her in place.

_Mine_, she thought, lightly kissing the offended area. Like now there was no question for either of them.

He hissed as she dragged her hands around to his abs, fingers just dipping into the waistband of his pants before skirting away. It was the end of his patience with her exploration. One of his hands twisted into her hair and tugged her up to meet his kiss and it was nothing like what they'd done on the couch. This kiss was purposeful, unforgiving in its demand: _I want all of you. Now._

"Turn around," he said, and God, if that authority didn't make her even wetter than she already was. She did as he said, slowly, body trembling in anticipation as he brushed her hair aside and reached for the zipper of her dress. Inch by inch, cool air hit her skin as he exposed the long column of her back, and she waited until he pushed the dress off of her shoulders to let it puddle around her feet. She shut her eyes, panting heavily, feeling his eyes scalding her back, and then nearly forgot how to breathe as he reached out and ran a single finger down the length of her spine. At her hips, he began to tug at her pantyhose, and she gladly assisted him, never so resentful of the garment than she was at that moment. The palms of his hands were fire as they brushed down her legs; he fell down to his knees to free her feet and as soon as she was rid of her stockings, his hands found her hips and turned her around.

Revenge reigned as his eyes raked over her body taking in every inch of skin exposed. She felt fragile and wanted and almost too alive all at once; it was like worship—his eyes so hungry, him still on his knees in front of her—and she shut her eyes against it. The reverence felt like more than she deserved and everything she'd ever wanted.

His hands teased the backs of her knees, a giggle falling from her before she could stop herself, and then they blazed a trail up to her ass. They settled against the silky fabric of her panties, kneading her, and she felt his tongue brush her thigh, licking his way up and then back down the other leg, not touching her in the place she ached for him most of all. Her head tipped back, her hips bucking toward him, and he reached up to trap her between his hands—one on her stomach, one on her back, holding her in place. She shook her head sharply, the confinement a superb torture, and bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood.

Tom stood and gave her forehead a chaste kiss that she countered by scrambling to undo his fly. Her body felt worked into fervor, so on edge that she thought she might come the moment he finally touched her pussy, but she was nowhere near alone in her arousal. As she pulled his pants down, he awkwardly toeing off his shoes and shimmying out of his slacks, it became abundantly obvious that she wasn't the only one about to lose control. Her breathing was a shaky staccato as she looked down at the tent of his boxers, and to her surprise, it was he who pulled off that last bit of clothing and tossed it away.

She was sure her eyes were wide as saucers—greedy in their wanton perusal of his length. God, he was big: long and thick, and she could already anticipate how she'd be able to feel what they'd done days after.

She reached out to touch him, taking him firmly in hand and pumping him a few times before she changed direction and scraped her fingernails up the underside of his dick. He growled, this fierce, amazing sound that made her feel so fucking powerful she had to grin, and then almost violently, he pulled her hands away, twisting them behind her back. "If you keep doing that," he said, voice belying the strength of his hold, "I'm going to fucking come right now. And I don't think either of us want that."

She shook her head, and then leaned forward and nipped at his neck. "Touch me," she said, somewhere between begging and commanding. "I want to feel your hands on me."

Tom complied, something she thought he might not always do willingly in the bedroom (a theory she couldn't wait to explore), and let go of her hands to unhook her bra. It was almost embarrassing how rock hard her nipples were already, pointed and puckered and just aching to be touched. Nearly too gently, he cupped her breasts, hands large enough to practically cover the modest swell of her chest, and then his thumbs swept over her nipples.

She didn't recognize the sound she made. It was something primal, a cry conveying the absolute need that he was so close to satisfying. Whatever it was, it made him bolder, mouth swooping in to kiss and suck at and tease her breasts. He tugged one nipple between his teeth, and immediately her body pushed into his cock, and like a woman completely out of control, she was rubbing herself against him, nearly humping him in an attempt to relieve any of the horrible pressure between her legs. He pushed her back onto the bed, grinding the lower halves of their bodies together, and she could feel her orgasm building like a fire throughout her entire body.

"Oh God," she groaned. "Oh _fuck_!" He kissed her sloppily, hands clawing at her panties; she barely had enough cognizance left to lift her hips so he could pull them off. And then—oh fuck—he was _finally_ touching her, fingers brushing through her soft curls and she was so, so wet…

She shrieked as he found her clit, back arching, fingers scraping at his ass and back to try to get him inside of her and fulfill her need. He was clumsy now, frantic in his own desire as he struggled to position his cock. She took him in hand, spreading her legs and bringing the tip of his cock to her opening, and then he pressed into her, pushing so slowly, and God, he was long and hard and all she could think was _just don't stop, don't ever stop…_

She rocked her hips up into him, curling her legs around waist and pulling him deeper, and judging by his sharp groan, it felt as good for him as it did for her. "Fuck," he hissed. "Oh, baby, if you keep moving like that…"

It was a promise she wanted him to keep. She moved her hips again, murmuring, "Please…oh God, please fuck me," because if he didn't move soon then she was literally going to burst into flames. She squeezed her muscles tight around him, he dipped down to kiss her hungrily, and then…

It was unstoppable. He was pounding into her and his thumb was still on her clit moving in hurried, insistent circles, and the world was coming down around her, and she didn't even care because _fuck_ it was _everything_.

She screamed as she came because she just couldn't hold back the overwhelming sensations inside of her. The fiery feel of him and the fireworks bursting behind her eyes and the way her body was quivering—absolutely shaking—as the pleasure rolled over her in waves. She felt him tighten inside of her, heard him grunting, but as lost as she was in her own orgasm, it was almost far-away.

Time was fluid after, passing by in increments that she couldn't track. Tom rolled onto his back, bringing her with him so she lay against his chest. She found herself absorbed by the smell of his sweat mixed with his cologne, by the racing of his heart, by the feeling of him still inside of her gradually softening and relaxing. Every sensation was heightened by euphoria, every inch of her body overstimulated by him.

And then he just made it perfect.

"I think I'm going to have to bump this up to the best date of all time."

They laughed together, her airy giggle mixing with his soft chuckle, and it meant everything. To be here with this man that she cared about so much. To be here with this man who was teasing her and holding her and loving _her_…

Even as they could see everything in the light.

* * *

**A/n: **Last one! Finally!

I honestly cannot believe how epically long this fic ended up being. I did not remotely intend for it to end up this way, but here we are, roughly 26,000 words and 48 pages later.

I would like to thank every one of you who read and/or reviewed this fic. Those of you who left feedback are the best—truly. I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter too, so please take a second to click on that review button below.

-Ryeloza


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